Catalyst
by In Dreams
Summary: PostWar, DMHG. Sometimes you can't help who you love and who you don't. Even if that one person is all you have left.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Alright, so I started writing this probably during the summer and have yet to post it for a number of reasons. I'm rather busy and usually don't have time to write fiction like this on a daily basis, and so I'm never sure when I'll be able to post an update. I was also having issues with a title.

As of now, I've completed seven chapters of this fiction and I have a pretty good idea of how it will go, and I feel that is sufficient enough to re-enter the world of fanfiction that I've been away from for a significant period of time. I hope any readers I have who have been so faithful to me might stick around to lend an opinion in a review, and new readers are the reason I'm writing in the first place.

This is Post-War, more emotional than adventure, so if you're searching for fascinating sub-plot upon sub-voldemort-plot, I know there are plenty of those out there. If you're looking for what I hope to be a view of the self from two of my favorite characters, give it a shot.

This is, of course, DM/HG, though with a bit of HG/BZ mentioned, and as well I've done two chapters of a separate Hermione/Blaise fic that I will be posting soon also. Anyway, sorry to have put you off so long already, please enjoy and let me know what you think!

**Disclaimer:** I only own certain portions of the plot, the rest was created by a mind much more incredible than my own.

* * *

It was a bleak evening, the type where no one particularly wants to do anything other than sip cocoa, huddled beneath fleece quilts. Certainly, no one begrudged the magical communications workers, who were beside themselves with anxiety trying in vain to stop the Floo connections from being thrown off course by the heavy winds.

Beyond the frosted window panes, snow banks were tall and growing. The atmosphere was uninviting, helped along by the frigid and bitter air.

This evening found Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter in a small flat in the heart of wizarding London, sharing a light-hearted chat between old friends.

"I saw Draco Malfoy this morning," Harry stated, taking a long swig of his black coffee. Hermione glanced up, fidgeting with her blanket.

"Yeah? How's he doing?" she asked in mild curiosity.

"Good," Harry nodded. "Keeping busy, at least. He was such a wreck after the war, I was almost concerned." The three laughed.

"We all thought he was about to lose it, I reckon," Ron added. Harry glanced between the pair of them, nerves evident on his features.

"I invited him to Christmas dinner with us," he blurted. "I hope you don't mind. He's just... he's got no one left."

"Are you sure, Harry?" Ron asked, failing to cover his insecurity. "We still don't know him well."

"People change, Ron," Harry said quietly. "If you need evidence, just look at what he did for us in the war."

"It's fine with me, Harry," Hermione interjected. "As long as there are no old Quidditch house rivalries between him and Oliver." She looked worried.

"I'm sure Wood's mature enough to be able to handle this, Herms," Harry joked. "Where is he this weekend anyway?"

"The team went to an indoor facility to get in some good practice while their pitch is under snow. He'll be back in a few days," she informed them, a grin sliding onto her features. Harry shook his head.

"I've never seen anyone with a stranger relationship than the two of you," he said, laughing.

"What's so wrong with it?" Hermione frowned, shrugging. "Neither of us are interested in a serious commitment, so we just..." She trailed off.

"You sleep together? A lot?" Ron broke in, grinning as well.

"Ron's right, Herms. It's a little weird that you're in a mainly sexual relationship with my old Quidditch captain," Harry added, and received a pillow to the face.

"It's not that weird, is it?" She pulled a face.

"Not _that _weird," Harry agreed. "Other than the two of you having nothing in common and him being four years older than you."

"Weirder than Ron dating Padma after the hysterical breakup he had with Parvati only three months ago?" She asked hopefully, a smirk creeping onto her face. Ron scoffed, looking away.

"Yes, weirder than that," the redhead replied quickly. "That was hardly anything."

"Ron," Harry said, laughing. "You were engaged; you call that nothing?"

"Fine," he sighed in defeat. "Of course, Harry reigns as king of the good relationships. How's Ginny, by the way?"

Harry looked at his friend over the top of his glasses, smiling. "In what aspect, Ron?" He quirked his eyebrows.

"In general, Potter," he grumbled as the other two laughed.

"I see. Well, Gin's fine, I'll let her know you were asking," he teased, waving his wand lazily at his now empty mug.

Hermione leaned deeper into her seat, sighing in contentment.

"Can I just stay here tonight, Harry? I can't gather enough energy to actually consider leaving." She put on a nervous grin, and Harry nodded his head.

"'Course you can, Herms. I'll even get Ron to surrender his room and he can sleep on the couch," Harry yawned, ignoring the glares he was receiving from Ron. "I think I'm going to sleep, though. Continue this discussion without me, if you wish."

"I'm exhausted," Hermione admitted, hugging each of them and running towards the redhead's room, so as not to get colder than necessary.

* * *

He had actually shown up. He stood at the door, hands numb and face flushed from the cold, as the snow blew around him. Hermione almost thought he looked like a silly blond caroler from the Christmas books she had read excitedly each year as a child. In an awkward and twisted sense.

"Well, come in, I suppose," she stated, moving out of the doorway as he followed her into the flat. "No need getting sick." For good measure.

"Thanks," he replied softly, holding out a rather frozen cake, which she took after a beat.

Things had never been too good between them, even after the slight improvement when Draco Malfoy had finally confided that he needed help. The two had never quite gotten past the frustratingly helpless phase, the one where nothing can be said beyond forced conversation about the weather.

Harry and Ron had taken his begrudging admittance better than Hermione might have thought, preferring to take what they were given, rather than protesting it. And so, in the time when Hermione could have been spending her seventh year, he had become a tentative ally. The word to be taken lightly.

He had stopped tossing petty insults and rude names, but that was when he had stopped talking in general. Nearly at all.

She bit her lip, glancing at his uncomfortable expression as he looked around the room. No need to make the evening worse than it was bound to be, even from the mere silence.

"Everyone's in the dining room, through there," she gestured to the door. "Would you like a drink?"

"Water's fine," he said in a strained voice, waiting until she was gone to walk out of the entrance.

When Hermione arrived in the other room, clutching a tall glass of water, and another of Firewhiskey, (for Ron), she wasn't surprised to see an animated conversation of Quidditch. She should have seen it coming, to put such a group in each other's company, including Oliver Wood, keeper and captain of the English national team.

If they could make the effort, she certainly could. She distributed her drinks, taking a seat next to Harry. After failing to comprehend the discussion, she noticed Draco wasn't talking so much anymore, and had downed his glass of water on a third gulp.

"Would you like..." she began, stopping as he shook his head.

"I'm good, thanks," he replied in a low voice, setting the glass onto the side table. She nodded, wracking her brain for anything to say, coming up short.

Within the next ten minutes, both Padma and Ginny had arrived, and Hermione had failed miserably in her quest to strike discussion with Malfoy. Other than her pathetic mention of the intense blizzard, after which she promptly groaned and buried her head in her hands.

Before she had time to feel appropriately embarrassed, she had looked up to see the slightest of smiles upon the blond's features, and she was too surprised to realize her stereotypical blunder of commenting on the weather when there was nothing else to be said. Hermione almost imagined a mischievous glint in his eyes.

At dinner she found herself between Draco and Oliver, unsure whether to feel at ease or not. While the others were lively and talkative, Hermione remained silent, chewing her turkey thoughtfully. Which suited her fine, because the two on either side of her were quiet as well. She didn't particularly feel like starting a conversation across the table.

After she had finished eating, Oliver snuck an arm around her waist, leaning in to mutter something in her ear. She paid little attention, because at that precise moment, she noticed Malfoy's gaze flicker in mild shock, before settling on hers. Her eyes narrowed almost automatically, and he looked away, abashed, as Hermione forced a smile for Oliver.

Oliver leaned back in his seat as if nothing had occurred, seemingly put off. Hermione entwined her fingers in his, though he kept his vision steadily on his plate for the remainder of dinner. Another five minutes passed, and Hermione could feel the heavy tension among the three of them so strongly that she was almost itching to get away from the table.

Screw conversation, fuck trying to get to know the blond; she was tired. And while Harry and Ron flirted shamelessly with their girlfriends, she was stuck between an angst-ridden ex-Slytherin and a moody keeper. She almost wished she could get a book, but that would be construed as rude and anti-social. And it was bloody Christmas.

Oliver sighed loudly for no apparent reason, before pulling his hand out of hers, and excusing himself to the washroom. No one noticed. Hermione leaned back in her chair, allowing her head to hang over the back as she shut her eyes tightly.

As she returned to her upright position, no less frustrated, to see the conversation continuing merrily, she was almost affronted to see Malfoy watching her, eyes mirthful.

"You look bored," he commented, glancing away. She let out a cruel 'ha' before sinking back into her chair.

"What gave me away?" she asked, humouring him. Of course he would want to talk when she was angry with the entire group. A selfish anger, but anger nonetheless.

"If I gave you the list, you'd be further bored to tears. It's obvious," he replied simply.

"If I..." she began, mind churning. "I could go get a drink, and it wouldn't be considered leaving the table, would it?"

He shook his head. "Hate to break it to you, but somehow I doubt they'd notice," he confided, and she shrugged in agreement.

"I believe in manners," she stated, standing quickly.

"Wait," Malfoy said in a low voice, stopping her. "I'll come with you. I'm hardly having more fun than you are."

She was taken aback, but felt lonely, so she permitted a small grin, and he stood as well. It had been ten minutes, and Oliver hadn't returned. She imagined he had gone off somewhere. Sometimes he was too much of a free spirit.

Once in the kitchen, the silence was eerie. Hermione poured them each a whiskey; Malfoy had complied to something stronger than water, and they sat at the small round table.

The air was tense, and Hermione spent no short amount of time dredging up the courage to speak.

"So what do you do?" she asked, clearing her throat as if lack of use was taking its toll.

"I work at Mungo's," he replied, setting down his drink.

"Oh," she said, surprised. "You're a healer?"

"Not exactly," he began, looking thoughtful. "I work with patients who've had their brains affected by magic in some way. I don't have many healing spells perfected, but we use different methods. More abstract, I suppose you could say."

"In the closed ward?" she asked, suddenly worried. Her visit to the ward in fifth year had been once too often.

"Yes and no. We work with the patients who are recently admitted, or show signs of improvement. If we have no luck, they get transferred." He frowned. "Those are never the good days."

"I can imagine," she empathized, staring absently out the window.

"You like snow?" he asked, following her gaze.

"From a distance, yes," she replied, lips quirked into a grin. "I prefer rain."

"I do as well," he confided, finishing his drink. "Do you live here?"

"Harry and Ron are flatmates here. I lived here before as well, but moved in to Oliver's a few months ago. His old flatmate moved to Scotland, so he invited me to move in."

"I see." He nodded, thoughtfully, lapsing back into silence. Hermione stood wisely, before she could be trapped by the blinding quiet once more, and walked into the living room. Oliver was back, once more discussing Quidditch with Harry and Ron, while Padma and Ginny gossiped among themselves. The whole group had moved from the dining room sometime during her conversation with Draco. He followed her through the doorway, taking a seat once more, as did she next to Oliver.

Hermione watched Oliver stare indifferently at Malfoy, before turning his penetrating blue gaze on her. She fought back a shiver, feeling inappropriately nervous.

"Where did you go?" she asked him quietly, aware of Malfoy's eyes on her back.

"Just out. I promised my seeker I'd let him know the details of our new strategy."

"He needed to know on Christmas, did he?" she said, somewhat amused. He shrugged.

"I missed you, though," he muttered childishly, grinning. She smiled back lazily, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing him.

"Will you two cut that out for once," Ron groaned sarcastically. Hermione's eyes snapped open, and she took her time in withdrawing from Oliver, tossing the redhead a dirty look.

"As if you and Padma never do it," she muttered, noticing the elicitation of a smirk from the blond in her peripheral vision. She smiled, resting her head against Oliver's shoulder as Harry and Ron put in a movie on the television. Seeing the look of astonishment on Malfoy's features, she laughed. "It's entertainment." He nodded, raising an eyebrow.

With one final glance over, he leaned back in his seat, watching the film with pursed lips. She bit her lip to keep from laughing when he spontaneously jumped at the sound from the speakers behind him.

Before Hermione realized, the movie was over and she was in the doorway, distanced from Oliver. She hugged Harry and Ron tightly, wishing them a Merry Christmas, before remembering the blond who was also standing feet away. She just couldn't picture herself holding the other man so affectionately like she did with her two best friends.

She suddenly felt terribly awkward, refusing to meet his gaze, but at the same time wondering if he had noticed. Curiosity won out, and she jerked her eyes up to meet his, feeling somehow worse when she noticed he looked similarly uncomfortable.

Giving her the faintest of smirks, he lifted one arm, shaking her hand firmly, almost comedically.

"Good seeing you Granger," he muttered, leaning close to her ear. "Maybe I'll owl you sometime." He hadn't asked in the form of a question, but she recognized it as one anyway, nodding her head lightly in acquiescence.

* * *

The owl had come much sooner than Hermione had anticipated. If she had even expected any owl at all. She wasn't entirely sure.

It came less than a week after the Christmas dinner, the day before New Years Eve. The cursive was untidy and minute, and Hermione was forced to read it three times to gather the full message. Almost as if it had been written in a hurry.

He had addressed her as Granger, and signed himself as D. M. The letter took several lines to ask if she had plans for new years.

Hermione found it ironic. He had turned a simple question into a babbling of unimportance. And yet, it had been written quickly.

He was in "a dilemma" as he put it.

She lifted a quill from her desk, dipping it into the ink well, placing it above the back of the parchment.

_D. M. _

_At the moment, I have no plans. Harry and Ron are too lazy to celebrate with me and Oliver's going to be away. Explain to me your dilemma. Perhaps, at one o'clock at the new coffee place in Diagon Alley. I have some shopping to do anyway. _

_Hermione Granger

* * *

_

It was such that Hermione found herself so overcome with nerves to be seeing her old enemy again so quickly, and alone nonetheless, that she nearly jumped when she saw him walk towards her table at five to one that afternoon.

"You're early," she commented, flushing.

"Yes, well, so are you," he replied, but didn't take a seat. Hermione was irritated with herself to feel so intimidated with him looming over her like that.

"You had a dilemma?" she asked, changing the subject quickly, relieved when he finally sat down across from her. He took his time in calling over the waitress to order a coffee, and didn't speak until he had received it.

"Yes, the dilemma." He frowned thoughtfully, taking a deep gulp of his drink. "I don't know if you remember Blaise Zabini." He inclined his head slightly, and Hermione nodded. "Ah. He's given me two tickets to a rather elite New Years celebration he's been planning for the better part of six months." Hermione nodded stupidly once more, wondering where she came into the equation.

"But, I've recently separated from my girlfriend of the past year, and I _know _she's managed to acquire a pair of her own tickets. If it were merely a matter of showing up, I probably wouldn't bother, but... she and I are in a bit of a debate at the moment, and if I were to be absent, or even go alone, it will be like handing her victory." He spoke calmly, breaking for coffee.

"I almost understand the difficulties of high society, Malfoy," Hermione began, lips quirked, "but how does this involve me?"

"You, Granger, need to come with me." His tone turned to that of poorly concealed desperation. "You'll know no more than five people there, and you won't need to talk to any Slytherins. I just need you to be seen with me, maybe dance with me a couple times. Plus, you'll have New Year plans, and at a costly party even."

"Your situation is tempting. Why me, Malfoy?"

"A number of reasons." He held up a finger. "She has no clue who you are, and if I say you're of influential blood, she'll believe me. Don't get me wrong, I've long since left behind my blood issues. Two, I've seen the way you clean up, and they'll believe I'd bring you to such a party." He held up a second, and then a third finger. "I need you to understand that I'm not the high class arse that I was at Hogwarts, and the very least, I have no other options. If you say no, I'm pretty much fucked."

She gaped at his grin, detecting a hint of his old smirk in the expression. She had to wonder if he had just complimented her.

"It's not a date, is it?"

"Of course not," he muttered absently. "I'm not looking for anything yet, and you aren't even single. Truthfully, it'll be my first foray into high society for quite a while, and hopefully my last. Blaise is actually forcing me into it. I just can't allow her grudge to defeat me."

He was looking at her from behind pleading grey eyes, and pouting lips, and Hermione felt herself crack. She sighed loudly.

"You'll owe me," she said finally, allowing a weak smile.

"Great. Really Granger, thanks. I'll pick you up at seven." He downed the last of his drink, standing to leave. "Oh, and don't eat." Before Hermione could question him, he was gone, and she had somehow made herself an almost non-date with Draco Malfoy.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I own very little of this. Hope you enjoy and drop a review.

* * *

"Hermione, I _can't_ believe you're going to Blaise Zabini's New Years Bash with _Draco Malfoy_. I'm actually a little jealous." Ginny engulfed Hermione's now poker-straight head of hair in one final cloud of extra-strength hairspray, before stepping back to look at her creation.

"Jealous about the party or the company?" Hermione coughed, taking a step backwards.

"The party of course. It's only the biggest wizarding celebration in five years," Ginny replied, gingerly touching a piece of the brunette's hair. "Though Malfoy _is_ Malfoy, and I can't deny being jealous of you for that as well. Does Oliver know yet?"

"He does not, and _will_ not know," Hermione shot the younger girl a warning look. Ginny feigned innocence, taking a seat on the bed next to Hermione.

"Would he care?"

"I imagine so," Hermione said thoughtfully, biting her lip. "How do I look?"

"Irresistible." The two girls shared a nervous grin as the buzzer sounded, and Hermione jumped. She waved quickly at Ginny before opening the door and walking outside.

He was standing at the bottom of the steps, looking up, with his hands in his pockets. Hermione fought back a strong urge to laugh. Despite the situation.

He had on a black dress shirt, partially untucked, a loose silver tie and dark jeans. His long hair hung in his eyes, framing his face. He was the image of perfection, of opposition. She was intrigued by his choice of dress; casual yet formal. And Muggle.

"Good evening," he greeted, allowing the corners of his mouth to quirk upwards. "Mind if we apparate?"

"Feel free," she replied, imagining it wouldn't be too difficult to make it through the evening if he were to remain civil. No repeats of Christmas. No silence, no awkwardness.

She linked her hand through the crook of his elbow, wincing only slightly as the force of the apparation hit her. When she opened her eyes and dusted off her dress, she was shocked at the house in front of her. The only building she could ever recall seeing that was larger than this was Hogwarts itself.

The Zabini mansion seemed to be several levels high, and covered a great expanse. The house had a classic, yet not over-done beauty that Hermione could only assume was matched on the inside.

"You don't need to tell anyone your name if you don't want to," the blond muttered in her ear, as he walked her closer to the house. "Although Blaise will get it out of you in any way possible."

"Then I suppose I may as well just tell Blaise," she replied, smiling slightly. Draco told his name to the portly looking man in the doorway, who surveyed the guest list quickly before nodding them in.

Hermione wasn't proven wrong, as she walked into the entrance hall she was overwhelmed by the house all over again, and she fought for a cool expression, so as not to look too out of place.

"Malfoy!" Hermione spun around as she heard her companion's name shouted over the din of the hundreds of other guests. "You made it."

She located the source of the voice, and noticed a slightly familiar Italian man with an impeccable sense of style. She remembered having met him once or twice in sixth year, but they had never had a true conversation.

Hermione stood to the side, feeling for the first time that she didn't belong at this type of a gathering, as Draco and Blaise shared a brief conversation. As worry was starting to take her however, she turned back to see Blaise watching her intently. He grinned as he caught her eyes, and placed a light kiss on her hand. How exaggeratedly cliche.

"Miss Granger," he commented, letting her hand drop. "It's been a few years, has it not?"

"I believe so," she replied unsurely, glancing at Draco.

"Glad you could make it," he remarked, before turning to the blond once more. "Draco man, Celly's here with someone you aren't fond of, don't go postal."

"Who's Celly?" Hermione asked Blaise in an undertone.

"The ex," he replied sinisterly, watching as Draco scanned the crowd.

"Blaise, who's she– oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me," he muttered under his breath, and beside her Blaise cringed. Draco ran a hand through his hair. "Of all people, Flint!"

"Marcus Flint?" Hermione asked timidly, wishing she hadn't spoken as Draco fired her an icy look.

"I'll apologize for him. Yes, good old Marcus. The pair aren't on good terms," Blaise informed her, and Hermione recognized the white-hot glare emanating from her 'date' as one she had often received in school.

"Flint will have her in bed by the end of the night and she'll never see him again, the son of a bitch. Or else it'll be the other way around, who knows. They likely _do _deserve each other..." The blond continued to mutter under his breath while Hermione followed his gaze. She indeed recognized Marcus Flint as the old Slytherin captain, accompanied by a tall, beautiful woman with voluminous blonde hair, sharp features and bright green eyes.

Hermione suddenly felt out of place once more. This was the type of woman Draco Malfoy attended high-class parties with. Not boring, slightly above average brunettes. Something in the back of Hermione's brain was telling her she knew her from somewhere, but she couldn't imagine where.

The blonde woman felt Hermione's gaze and spun around, noticing Draco with a shocked expression. She made her way over, and Hermione didn't fail to notice the death glare between the two men as Flint begrudgingly followed.

"Celestina," Draco greeted in a rough tone, shoving his hands in his pockets again. "You're looking well."

"As are you, Draco. I believe you know Marcus Flint." The introduction was curt. Draco shot the older man a scathing look.

"Unfortunately, yes." His eyes lightened as they turned on her. "This is Hermione." He put one hand on her back, moving her closer to the blonde. Hermione shook her hand, giving her a smile.

"Isn't she quaint, Draco," Celestina commented after she had released her hand, and Hermione blinked, unsure if she had just been spoken of as if she wasn't there. Almost as if Hermione was a small puppy that had delighted her.

"Quite the contrary, Cel. Hermione's the brightest witch of the generation."

"Good for you," Celestina told her, giving her an ingratiating smile that sent Hermione into disbelief of her statement. Those green eyes told her that the other woman would much rather prefer her beauty to Hermione's brain.

"We'll just be off now," Draco broke in, grabbing Hermione rather forcefully by the hand and pulling her into the crowd, abandoning Blaise to greet more company. He shook his head once he stopped, far across the hall. "Just ignore her."

"She seemed nice," Hermione tried, and shrugged at Draco's amused expression.

"She's a bitch," he murmured, and Hermione felt slightly relieved.

"I almost feel like I know her," Hermione thought hard, but was still unable to place the woman in her memory.

"Think magazine covers," Draco told her, and her eyes widened. "Celestina Warbeck ring a bell?"

"You mean that was the singer?" Hermione recalled hearing the woman on the Wizarding Wireless over her past years in the wizarding world. "How old is she?"

"She's six years older than I am, so twenty-nine, I believe," he replied. "She tends to talk down to everyone she considers under her. A celebrity thing I guess."

So Draco dated beautiful blonde celebrities.

"How did you two... get involved?" Hermione asked nervously.

"It's long, and complicated, and I don't even know the full story anymore. I don't imagine you read many wizard tabloids, which is probably a good thing."

"When you told me she wouldn't have blood issues, I didn't realize there would be fame issues instead," Hermione muttered a little darkly.

"You aren't quaint," he reassured her, looking up as the Weird Sisters finished setting up their equipment. "You actually look quite fabulous tonight. Care to dance?"

"I– yeah, sure." He had thrown her off with his abrupt subject change.

It was awkward. He had wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her in close, and began to dance. And Hermione was stiff with terror and shock, and maybe a little bit of something else. She felt undeniably awkward, and so was intensely relieved when he began to talk.

So she talked back. And she realized he was the same smartarse Draco Malfoy she had known for her first six years of schooling, except now his witty comments weren't directed at her as insults, but instead as conversation.

They danced the fast songs and the slow ones, keeping a steady flow of discussion for what felt like days, breaking occasionally for drinks.

While the pair stopped for refreshments the final time, the band quit playing and they looked to see Blaise on the stage, magically intensifying the volume of his voice. Blaise spoke for a good twenty minutes, firstly about the difficulties of planning the world's largest New Year's bash, and then of deciding what to wear to said New Year's bash. _Then_ of convincing his best friend to _attend_ his New Year's bash. At this Draco laughed and raised his glass of whiskey.

It was a highly entertaining speech, and Hermione was smiling by the end of it. As Blaise stepped down, wishing them all to party hard, he waved his wand at the ceiling and a large countdown clock appeared in mid-air. It showed that New Year's was in precisely one hour, and Hermione was shocked to see that she had spent over three hours dancing.

"Here's why I told you not to eat," Draco said in her ear, leaning in to be heard over the music once more.

She looked at the long rows of tables to the sides of the hall, and couldn't stop herself from gaping. On them were the most incredible buffets she had ever seen, and her mouth was instantly watering. There were entrees, desserts, snacks. The proportions were unreal, and Hermione couldn't imagine the work it had taken to prepare such a feast. They each grabbed a plate, and Hermione didn't even feel guilty about loading up.

"Blaise has the greatest house elves," he informed her as she took a bite of her potatoes. She shot him a glare, and was about to speak when he continued. "We think it's because he pays them more per week than I make in a month at Mungo's, and they stay here of their own will." Her frown turned into a grateful smile and she nodded.

"Great food, really," she replied.

"Good to hear, Granger," Blaise cut in, taking a seat at their table. "Enjoying yourselves I hope?"

"Very much, thank you," Hermione said, downing the last of her drink. Blaise waved his wand and the glass was refilled instantly. She acknowledged this with a smile and he nodded back. "So what have you got planned for midnight?"

"Oh, shit. I _knew_ I was forgetting something." Blaise looked genuinely upset and Hermione almost felt bad until he cracked a grin. "I can't tell you that just yet. I imagine you can wait for another thirty-seven minutes?"

"What else is there to do here aside from eating and dancing?" Draco broke in, tossing back a grape. Blaise shrugged.

"Open bar?"

"We know," Draco replied without a beat, his grey eyes lit up, and Hermione suspected he had perhaps been taking advantage of this factor.

"I understand that some people have moved out to the gardens, but at the moment I'd rather not know what they're doing out there. Feel free to take a look if you'd like." Blaise grimaced.

Draco shot Hermione a sidelong glance, and she smiled.

"I think we'll pass," she said, and Blaise laughed.

"Maybe we'll just go for a walk," Draco decided, looking at Hermione for a reaction and she nodded. He stood up, refilled his drink, and helped her to her feet.

"Don't get off to too much, you've only got half an hour," Blaise reminded them, standing himself, before a thoughtful look took over his features. "Of course, I'm not sure I should be using the term, 'get off' around Draco Malfoy after he's been drinking..."

"Shut up Blaise," the blond in question grumbled, dragging Hermione along behind him, who, despite herself was feeling a bit light headed as well and couldn't help but laugh.

He led her through the house, since she'd been curious to see the rest, and wasn't disappointed. He had needed to pull her away from the library, conjuring her another drink instead.

The liquor didn't hit Hermione until Draco stumbled on the stairs and had to grab onto her for support, and she was sent into hysterics. He started laughing himself; he had a loud, obnoxious laugh and Hermione threw herself down in the middle of the staircase, crying tears of mirth.

"I never thought I'd see Hermione Granger drunk," he laughed in her ear, sitting beside her. He smiled, calming down as she wiped her eyes. "Some night huh? Can you honestly tell me you regret coming?"

"No," she replied, sufficiently returned of her composure. "It's been a good night. How did we never realize how well we could get along before?" He shrugged.

"I imagine it was the Gryffindor-Slytherin isolation."

"Come on," she pulled him up, dragging him by the hand back towards the rest of the guests, where a shimmery two hung above them. She looked over at him once more, his cheeks flushed and blond hair tousled, and started to giggle again.

Not watching, Hermione walked directly into someone, looking up to see Celestina and Flint again. She had an eyebrow raised and looked almost slightly disgusted at the pair of them.

"Draco this is no way to behave at high society gatherings," she scolded. "Running around like an intoxicated child. If I was here with you, I would've left long ago."

"Good thing you aren't then, isn't it?" he said loudly, and those around turned to watch. "Jesus, you aren't my _mother_, Cel. Just run along with your newest manwhore and get out of here." His eyes were fuming. "And you, just get the fuck away from me." He had turned to Flint now, who wasn't bothering to hide the amusement on his face.

Celestina looked ready to kill. She gaped for a few seconds before snapping her mouth shut, and Hermione could feel Draco trying to walk away. In the back of her mind she almost heard the countdown, _nine, eight,_ and Celestina had leaned in to mutter something to Flint. _Seven, six, _Hermione thought she saw the blonde woman shoot her a challenging look, _five, four,_ and Draco looked up to notice the final three seconds tick away on Blaise's suspended clock, the anger in his eyes softening slightly.

As the rest of the room chanted "Happy New Year," Hermione wanted to shout and warn Draco. She saw it almost in reverse; the utter raw pain in his dark grey eyes, unable to be torn away from the sight before him. The woman he had loved and the man he hated trying to ingest one another in a blatant attempt at revenge.

One of those green eyes opened and threw Hermione a final look; one of defeat and malice. Hermione read the meaning clear. Celestina had been able to move on and find someone who she could snog at parties to make her ex jealous, while Draco had obviously not been able to.

Hermione glared back, seeing as Draco was still frozen, before casting around the room wildly to catch Blaise's eye. He gave her a desperate look for the sake of his friend. She bit her lip; she hadn't even remembered this part of New Years.

Except the two next to her were still undeniably busy, and Draco still looked destroyed; he had been able to pull his eyes away and was staring into the floor, all composure lost. Her heart went out to him, so she grabbed his tie; it was made of silk, and she pulled him closer to her. His eyes met hers in that second, in an expression of neutrality leading to confusion, before she allowed her eyes to slide shut as her lips connected with his.

She kissed him hesitantly at first, hoping that he wouldn't just pull away and break the remainder of his dignity in front of Celestina. But he kissed her back, lifting one hand to bury deep in her hair, the other going around her waist to pull her close to him as he deepened the kiss, and she fought hard to feel guilty about Oliver as his tongue met hers.

The kiss was getting out of control, their hands were everywhere, mouths on each other, unable to break away. Hermione's brain was hazy with the heat and alcohol, but when she was finally gifted with conscious thought once more, she pulled away, looking over.

Celestina sent her a look of pure loathing, and disapparated out almost immediately. Flint shook his head, spouting curses at Draco, who was looking ragged, but he grinned slightly at having angered his enemy, as the other man disapparated as well.

Blaise was surveying her with an open mouth, looking almost impressed. Several others were looking on in mild curiosity at the situation which had transpired.

When Hermione had finally worked up the courage to meet Draco's heavy gaze once more, she felt insecure. She still hardly knew him, and yet she had just kissed him in a room full of people.

But his eyes were understanding and grateful. He leaned in and muttered "thank you" in her ear, before being pulled aside by Blaise, who looked downright excited.

Hermione suddenly wasn't feeling so enthusiastic about the whole event anymore, and she could feel a headache coming on. People were staring at her now; wondering if she was someone important. She seemed to have captured Draco Malfoy's attention at least.

She didn't want to attempt disapparation for fear of splinching after the alcohol she had consumed, and she didn't want to be impolite and just leave Draco. Thankfully Blaise let him go, and Draco returned to her, looking concerned.

"You don't look so good," he said quietly, evaluating her. "Do you want me to take you home?"

As much as she didn't want to ruin the rest of his evening, she felt horrid so she nodded weakly, muttering a goodbye to Blaise as Draco took her hand and the sensation nearly made her lose her dinner. He apparated them to her doorstep, and Hermione leaned weakly against the door until she regained her vision.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "It was a great night."

"Don't thank me for anything, come on. I owe you _twice_ now," he replied, not meeting her gaze. "I can't believe I just lost it like that. How pathetic am I?"

"She was provoking you," Hermione reasoned, "no one blames you."

"Blaise seemed to think it was hilarious."

"Which part?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Us snogging, evidently."

"Yes, well. I hope he didn't get the wrong idea," she muttered, flushing.

"You didn't have to, you know."

"I know."

He leaned back against a pillar at the base of the steps, closing his eyes tight and then re-opening them.

"I _really_ didn't need to see her with Flint," he shuddered. "It felt pretty fuckin' lousy knowing she was only doing that to piss me off."

"Did you love her?" Hermione asked, turning to look at him. Her headache had lowered to a dull throb.

"I suppose. In a rather twisted way. I can't recall ever once having a real conversation, but I just... couldn't get enough." Noticing her disbelieving face, he added, "not like that. Just the relationship. Her, who she was. Is. I don't know."

"So what happened?"

"She had trouble with faithfulness. I figured I may as well just create one great amount of pain for myself rather than be forced to deal with the pain in shots each time she decided I wasn't enough. So I just... ended it. I still haven't decided if it was worth it."

Hermione almost felt bad for him; she had always assumed him to be unloving and unable to settle. Here it seemed he had taken the risk of both, and had failed.

"Sorry to hear," she muttered, and he shook his head.

"Just stupidity on my part is all." He paused, deep in thought. "Look, Granger, I really did have a good time. I know we've had quite a lot of differences in the past, but..."

"Don't go sappy on me, _please_," she groaned. "I feel the same, and I understand. Shall we both just forgive each other and move on?"

"Sounds great. I guess I'll leave you to go to sleep if you wish. Owl me sometime, will you?" She nodded and he smiled. "And enjoy your hangover tomorrow."

She groaned again, clutching her head, before muttering something under her breath and ducking into the flat, throwing herself into bed still in her clothes.

As Draco paused before he apparated to his own flat, he realized that Hermione never had a chance to see what Blaise had planned for midnight, and he imagined that she might have cared enough to regret it under different circumstances.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**A/N:** And the complete breakdown of Hermione's life begins. What fun.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters, places, or pre-existing situations.

Please drop me a review if you enjoy. They mean the world to me. Andiamo...

* * *

It had been a week and a half since New Year's Eve, and it was snowing again. The snow had begun blowing early that morning, and with the eventual letup, Hermione and Ginny abandoned the men to make a trip to Diagon Alley.

While Ginny had gone inside Gringotts to make a withdrawal, Hermione had lingered outside, looking at a window display at the apothecary. She was just turning away as a snowball threw itself directly in her face.

"Ginny, that's cold!" she spluttered, wiping her face.

"What was that?" Ginny asked, coming out of the bank from the opposite direction as the snowball. Hermione stared for a moment, before shaking her head.

"Nothing, let's just get going."

The two girls walked quietly down the rather empty pathway, browsing and window shopping. Hermione suddenly felt a shiver in her spine, and spun around, scanning the town behind her. When she turned back around, she walked almost right into a tall man.

"Sorry," she muttered distractedly, still keeping an eye on the road to her back.

"Granger." The voice was laced with amusement, and she stopped, turning back to the man.

"Oh, Draco! I didn't see you there," she commented, seeing his look of disbelief.

"You nearly ploughed me over," he replied, grinning. Ginny was watching the exchange nervously.

"I thought someone was watching me," Hermione admitted, flushing.

"Yes, that was me," the blond said, looking bored. "The snow too. Good of you to assume it was Weasley though."

"What are you doing here today?" Hermione asked, continuing to walk.

"I was attending a conference actually," he answered. "A group of researchers in Florence discovered a new potion that could be useful in mental rehabilitation."

"That's great," Hermione said, smiling. "I meant to owl you, I've just been... keeping quite busy lately." He shook it off, seeing her sudden frown. He stopped, looking at his watch and then over at her.

"I just remembered Blaise is heading over to see my new flat tonight," he said, "he'll have my throat if I leave him out in the cold." He gave Hermione an apologetic smile and Ginny a formal nod, before disapparating. Hermione paused before continuing to walk, not noticing the look Ginny was giving her.

"Hermione, I _know_ there's something you aren't tell me. When did the two of you get to a conversational stage?" Hermione shrugged.

"New Years, I suppose," she replied, ducking into a store.

"Okay, so what happened there? Don't leave me in the dark on this Hermione," Ginny begged.

"Nothing happened, Ginny," she sighed, leafing through the aisles.

"Nothing _at all_? Hermione, you can tell me. I won't tell Oliver."

"Gin," she cried desperately, grabbing the younger girl by the shoulders. "We talked. Nothing _happened_."

* * *

"Hermione, do you ever just feel like talking?" Oliver asked her later that evening, lips pursed. 

"I guess so; why?" she asked, leaning into the sofa next to him.

"Because," he murmured. "It seems like every time I try to talk to you, you don't want to. You just turn it into sex."

"Ol, that's the reason we're together," she reminded him.

"I realize that. I just mean, don't you get bored of it? I'd like a relationship to have a _bit _more substance than that. Not every man lives to get laid, Hermione."

She stared into his eyes, confused. As far as she knew, they didn't have deep philosophical discussions. They didn't often have any kind of discussion.

"I know you think this is working just fine, but I'm honestly not sure anymore. I'll be thirty in a few years and I can't play Quidditch forever. I'll need more in my life than this. I want to get _married_ some day, and have a family, you know, Herms?" His tone was understanding, but Hermione felt as if he were patronizing her.

"I know you're younger, and not ready to settle, but I don't know if you will be ready in a few years either. I know a hell of a lot more about you than you think I do," he said.

"How?" she asked. Her throat felt suddenly dry. A worry was hanging in the back of her mind that she had known this could be coming. But again, how?

"How, Hermione?" He laughed and his voice was hoarse. "Because I _love_ you, and you know that. I'd give up my broom for you, and to you I'm just a pastime."

"You love–" she began, her throat cutting out on her.

"Yes, I've told you. I think you always assumed I didn't mean it."

She had. She'd thought it was his way of getting her in bed. She'd found it cute.

Cute. A sense of panic was rising in her.

"Oliver, I didn't know," she whispered, biting her lip. "I don't love you... I mean, I can't. I can't love you."

"Why not?" he asked in a low voice. She met his eyes, shocked to see him breaking beneath the blue. He was actually in love with her. Bloody fucking cute.

"Because I just... can't love. Can't love you. I don't... know," she was so confused, so worried. Her breath was catching in her throat; she was suffocating. She ran a hand through her hair, feeling sick.

She was too ashamed to meet his eyes. He loved her. No one had ever loved her. Only her parents. But they were her parents. He loved her, and she treated him like... like something to do when she grew bored. Literally.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, eyes wide. She darted to the washroom, but he caught her before she made it.

"Hermione, wait," he pleaded. "I thought you knew. I didn't mean to break it on you like this."

"It's not your fault," she muttered, eyes trained on the floor. "I shouldn't be so dense."

"You aren't dense, you're brilliant." He reached over, lifting her chin to see him. "Why can't you love me?" He asked it softly, but Hermione could tell he was nervous.

"It isn't you Ol, I swear," she said, begging him to believe her.

He nodded resolutely, averting his gaze, withdrawing his hand. Hermione hated to see him hurt. She felt wrong.

"Then I don't know how much longer we should fuck around like this," he said, almost coldly, and Hermione wanted to cry.

"Okay," she said. "I am sorry." He nodded again, still not looking up at her. She left the room quietly, walking into her own and closing the door. She sat down, straining to stop any tears from falling, staring into the light.

What had she just done? The light became too much, and she looked away, blinking. The tear fell. Bloody coward.

* * *

"So. What was so important that you had to come talk during my lunch break rather than after I'm done working?" The blond rummaged around in his office for a moment, before returning with a handful of gold, which he pocketed. He peeled off his sanitized gloves and threw them on the desk, before locking the door and leading her out of Mungo's. 

Hermione swallowed. She didn't want to talk about it exactly, but she figured now was as good a time as any to cash in on one of his 'payments' so to speak.

When he walked past the cafeteria, Hermione raised her head, about to speak.

"I'm taking you out for lunch. Something tells me you could use it." She laughed. "So? I've only got an hour." He grinned.

"It's a little complicated," she began, hoping he wouldn't ask her to elaborate. However, he was watching her intently, waiting. "Oliver and I sort of... ended things last night."

His eyebrows shot up, and Hermione could tell he was regretting his joking manner.

"I'm sorry. What happened?"

"We just had a disagreement... he didn't care enough about the relationship." The truth was too shameful, and she didn't imagine he'd care if she stretched the truth a little. Role reversal.

"I'm sorry." He looked genuinely apologetic, but seemed to have forgotten about why she wanted to see him in the first place.

"So, I owled you because I need a bit of a favor." He jumped back into the conversation, nodding. "I'm currently without residence it would seem, and you know a lot more people than I do. Do you know of anyone who would be willing to rent out a flat, or at least is looking for a roommate?" She was nervous, and literally homeless. She just couldn't stay with Oliver any longer.

He paused, thoughtful. "I actually do know one man who recently moved into a new flat and is rather lonely for company. The rent would be quite low, but it is a bit out of London. I believe he has two bedrooms, a kitchen, living room. Should I let him know you're interested?"

"Yes," she replied almost automatically. She knew he'd have an answer. "As long as it isn't some crusty old Slytherin that I hated back at Hogwarts." She laughed at her own joke, but stopped when she realized he wasn't laughing with her.

"If that's the condition, I'm not too sure you'll still be interested in knowing who it is."

Her excitement fell immediately. She should have known it sounded too good to be going along with the rest of her life lately.

"Why don't you tell me anyway? I could handle a few Slytherins more than others."

"I'm not too sure. This particular Slytherin is rather headstrong. You didn't get along too well in school, I remember. He's about, oh, six feet tall, with blond hair, quite dashing."

"I can't recall... oh." She was thinking, trying to remember anyone she may have overlooked at school, when she glanced up at his six foot frame. "Are you serious?"

"Entirely serious. Key?" he reached into his pocket and held out a key to her.

"I couldn't possibly," she muttered. "Both of the favours I did for you together aren't near the worth of this."

"That doesn't matter. I need company. If you hate it I'll help you find another place. And I'm not too sure, Granger," he grinned. "That was some kiss."

* * *

"There's no way I can possibly afford rent in a place like this," Hermione gaped, staring around her new living quarters with wide eyes. "I doubt I can afford the washroom." 

"Well, if you want to set up camp in the washroom, go right ahead. I'd recommend the bedroom though. Like I said, it's out of London so the rent is cheap, as no one else wanted it. Plus I know the owner."

He reached into a bag, pulling out a handful of small cubes. He tossed them on the floor, aiming his wand at each one in turn. They grew to be large sized boxes which levitated and made their way down the hall. With a pointed look from Draco she excitedly followed the boxes towards her new room.

"Oh jeez," she muttered, glancing over at him. "This is way too nice."

He halted the movement of the boxes. "You'll be staying then?" Her blatant stare gave him an answer, so the boxes distributed, some going into the walk-in closet, and some beginning to unpack themselves.

"I somehow imagined you'd have more... stuff."

"By stuff do you mean pointless little bits of memorabilia, magical gadgets, and books?" He nodded, and she reached into her own pocket and withdrew a single box. "That's in here." The box expanded as well, and set to work lining up the books on the bookshelf.

"I never thought I'd say that I feel undeserving of something Draco Malfoy's given me. But this is really too much."

"Think of it as repayment of six years as an arse. Plus the seventh when I just couldn't be bothered to have an opinion." He said nothing more, but instead left the room so she could finish setting up.

* * *

When she walked out of the room an hour later, he was in the living room, perusing the _Evening Prophet_, thin wire-framed glasses perched upon his nose. He looked up, removed the glasses, delicately folded them. 

"You've had an owl," he told her, setting down the paper. She picked up the scrap of parchment and scanned it, wincing. It was from Ginny.

It asked what the hell she was doing in Draco Malfoy's flat when the day before she had been happily living with Oliver Wood.

"Do you happen to have an owl I can borrow?" She asked gingerly. He nodded to the far corner of the kitchen where a large black owl sat watching her closely.

"I'll have to charge you though."

"Oh. How much?" she bit her lip, posing a quill over a fresh piece of parchment. I'll tell you everything tomorrow, she wrote.

"Granger, I was kidding." His voice was deadpan and she smiled to herself. She sent the owl off knowing Ginny would be furious.

"So," Hermione said, taking a seat on a dark green leather couch. "What kinds of rules do you have for staying here? No loud parties, no coming home at four in the morning, no bringing men in?"

"Well. Firstly, if you're going to throw a loud party, be sure you invite me. If you do plan on coming home late, make sure I was out with either you or anyone else, and not just sitting alone while you had a good time. As for other men, I'd actually prefer that you didn't. Only because I value my sleep and I might become jealous if I wake up knowing you're getting lucky while I'm sleeping."

"Deal. As long as number three can work the same with you and women," she looked at him for an opinion.

"Deal. And one last rule. No secrets, no lies, honest opinions. If my cooking stinks, you'll tell me. If you want me to sod off, tell me. Alright? That one should be simple." She took a deep breath. She nodded. That small lie about Oliver didn't matter; he didn't need to know.

* * *

Hermione nervously stepped out of her room the next morning to see that Draco was already awake, fiddling with the dials on the Wireless radio. 

He gestured to a plate, and she picked up a slice of toast, taking a small bite.

"Do I honestly _need_ to explain myself to them?" she asked hesitantly, looking at him with hopeful eyes.

"I expect so. Wouldn't you want an explanation if you were them?"

"I suppose. What the hell am I going to say," she sat down, chewing thoughtfully. He shrugged, settling on one station of music.

"Whatever you feel like. Just tell them the truth, they should understand."

"Draco, it's Harry and Ron. I know they have every right to treat you well after the war, and we all practically owe you our lives, but that doesn't mean they're going to welcome you, I'm sorry to say. Truthfully, I was shocked that Harry invited you to Christmas," she admitted, biting her lip.

"I was too." He stood up, lips pursed, and poured himself a glass of orange juice. "The worst that can happen is that they disapprove, right? So you move back there, and I'll just find someone else to live here."

"That's the thing. I don't particularly want to _leave_ here." He laughed and coaxed the slightest of smiles out of her.

"It'll be fine. Now go before I get irritated with you." He said it with such nonchalance that Hermione was almost reminded of him years ago, with that air of aristocratic indifference he never left behind. She scrunched up her nose, before steeling herself and apparating to Harry and Ron's flat.

"Hermione!" Ron called, as she materialized in the kitchen. "Get in here."

She slowly walked into the living room, shocked at what she saw. Harry and Ginny were standing on opposite sides of the room, each smouldering darkly. Ron looked helplessly lost, seated on the couch between them. She sat down next to the redhead, looking around unsurely. Ginny threw Harry a disgruntled look across the room, before sighing loudly and taking a seat.

"So Hermione, care to explain what's going on?" she asked, and Hermione's nerves shot up once more, as she was granted with the instant suspicion that Ginny was not in a good mood to begin with.

"Quite simple, really. Oliver and I have broken up." She looked airily around the room, as if there were nothing more to discuss.

"Is it actually possible to break up when you weren't _really_ together?" Harry wondered out loud, but was silent after a sharp glance from Hermione. "Evidently so."

"So, I assumed Draco might know someone with space for me to stay, and he invited me to move in to his flat."

"Obviously you're welcome here, Herms. You know that," Ron muttered earnestly.

"I know. It was just always so cramped here with the three of us. And I kind of felt like... I don't know, that I should move on with my life a bit. I shouldn't need to depend on the two of you for everything in my life. It's a form of liberation." She saw the two of them breaking; Ginny seemed to have tuned out.

"I guess we can accept that. And I know I took the first step at Christmas, but that doesn't mean I'm about to become best mates with Malfoy," Harry said cautiously.

"I know, Harry," she replied, falling silent.

"So we aren't going to change your mind on this?" he continued, faltering.

"Afraid not," she gave him an apologetic smile, before he shrugged, defeated.

The tension between the obviously feuding pair grew far too heavy for Hermione's liking, and so she took her leave, apparating back to her new flat. She recalled Ron's comment about Harry having great relationships, and suddenly felt overcome with sadness.

If Harry Potter couldn't manage something like that...

* * *

When Hermione returned to the flat, she felt slightly further disheartened that Draco had already gone to work. After taking a quick stroll around the place to explore what she had missed the day before, she found nearly nothing to do. 

She'd discuss that with him later. She needed to find a job. Badly.

Her last job at Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley had ended rather poorly, after she had spent more time reading the merchandise than actually selling it. And until she found the job that struck a chord within her, she didn't plan on settling.

Oliver had told her she wasn't prepared to settle.

That was an entirely different issue.

She browsed the Daily Prophet lightly, looking for any type of help wanted ad that looked the least bit interesting. Nothing whatsoever. She'd look tomorrow.

* * *

Return to Top 


	4. Chapter 4

Catalyst chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters found here.

Enjoy, review. Whatnot.

* * *

She had found a job easily enough. Within the next few days there had been an opening in the Ministry; Hermione applied for an interview and was hired nearly 36 hours after. The job was highly boring; her duties remained within the borders of jotting notes at meetings, inputting the information into the Ministry's systems, and taking messages at a desk. But the wage wasn't bad, and she had managed to pay off her part of the rent with no difficulties the last month.

Her friendship with Draco was trailing the line of incredible, and she couldn't recall ever feeling quite as close with Harry and Ron, who had often been more interested in Quidditch than books. Draco was an unimaginably strong middle ground, and he was entirely honest with her. They often sat, anywhere, mostly in Draco's room, on the floor side by side. He would lean back against the bed so he could turn his head and watch her. He had a type of calculating smile that intimidated her and drove her mad all at once. He shared his life with her.

The guilt was driving her crazy. Not only had she lied to him when he had offered her the room, but she hadn't yet bothered to clear the situation up. He pitied her, she assumed.

She usually despised pity. But he wasn't open about it.

The fact that he felt so bad for her made her feel like a horrible person. She didn't deserve this. Oliver was the one who was supposedly heart broken.

He seemed to be moving along quite well enough. At least he had looked to be, this evening when Hermione saw him at that blasted club. His arms around that other girl. The cute, wholesome looking one, with the blue eyes to match his.

His eyes, that when they had met hers, had been hollow. They had torn apart her soul, ruined her evening. Hollow, empty.

His expression had been unreadable when he noticed her. The flinch had been unmistakable however, when she had offered him a friendly smile. He frowned back at her, through the crowds.

The girl. She was the settling type, the marriage and family type, Hermione was sure of it. She felt glad for Oliver, she had to at least try. He had spent, wasted rather, the better part of a year and a half on their relationship. Which had ended, like nothing had ever happened. Although to Hermione, the whole situation had been a mildly important event.

She felt like a dreadful person.

And now she was locked out. In her haste to leave the club after seeing Oliver, she hadn't remembered that Ginny had borrowed her key ring to transfigure into a hairpin, and she had never gotten them back, not imagining that they would leave separately.

She didn't particularly feel like appearing in Harry's flat, where she was sure Ginny would be, and destroying their evening. Draco should be home soon enough. So she had been telling herself for the past hour.

As well, she didn't want to even get up, she felt so completely awful. There was a slight breeze in the wind, and Hermione wasn't adequately dressed for a chilly February evening, thus, she was quite cold.

Her eyes were probably red and watery. Her feet felt like ice, and her arse was sore from sitting on the concrete steps, leaning against the door.

She looked up at a sound, and saw her flatmate coming up the walk, draped over a blonde girl whom Hermione was almost positive was hardly legal. Even from a distance Hermione could see the alcohol evident in his glazed grey eyes.

When he noticed her, eyes swollen and shaking slightly, he sobered immediately. He froze, staring at her, before muttering something to the girl, who glared at him and vanished.

He walked closer to her, cautiously, looking down on her, and Hermione was terrified.

"I had to talk to you," she whispered, "about one of your rules."

He thought for a second, mouth slightly opened, before he swallowed, shutting it.

"Right, the women thing. I forgot," he admitted.

"Draco, I meant... I need to talk to you." Her tone was almost desperate and she didn't care.

"We can talk inside," he said, confused. "Weren't you going out with Weaselette tonight?"

"I did. I don't have my keys," she muttered. "And your security system won't accept any type of unlocking spell."

"Just come inside," he said unsurely, reaching to open the door.

"I have to talk to you. Right now," she replied urgently, pulling his hand away from the door. "So you can kick me out if you want."

"I'm not going to kick you out, don't be ridiculous. Whatever you did doesn't matter to me."

"I've been lying to you every day, Draco," she blurted, biting her lip, angrily wiping away a tear. "Since the day you invited me to move in."

Whatever he had been expecting paled in comparison to her revelation. He stared at her closely, evaluating.

"About what?" His eyes were about to narrow, she was sure.

"About Oliver." She nearly choked on his name, but stopped herself. "I... it wasn't me who ended it. It was him. Because I didn't care enough about the relationship." His eyes had softened again, and he reached out to softly wipe away a tear from her face. She jerked away from the contact.

"I _lied_ to you. He just... he told me he _loved_ me, Draco. I couldn't handle it, I said I didn't love him."

"Did you love him?" he asked, meeting her eyes.

"I couldn't. I had no idea he cared." She froze, empty of words for a moment. "Draco, I just couldn't tell you the truth, you would've thought I'm so pathetic. If I can't even hold onto a solid relationship, how entirely fucked up must I be?"

"Hermione," he muttered softly. "If that's the criteria for fucked up, you forget, I was the one who stayed with a celebrity while I knew she hardly gave a shit about me. I'd say that's awfully _fucked up._"

It was almost enough to make her smile.

"I'd forgotten about that," she admitted, rubbing her eyes once more.

"I understand why you lied, and I'm not going to kick you out," he said blatantly, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She was shocked, but after a moment buried her head in his chest, reaching her own arms around his back. He felt so warm, her eyes slid shut, and she held on tight.

After he had finally convinced her to let go of him, and to come inside, to take a seat on the floor as usual, she seemed revitalized. She spilled to him her entire evening, and seeing Oliver, and how she felt so bad that she was somehow unable to move on.

She told him she hadn't even had a date since her and Oliver broke up, out of confusion for the entire system of dating, and he asked why the concept of love scared her so badly.

"Because the idea of love, and everything associated with it terrifies me," she had replied nervously. "Every time I've felt love, it's led to pain and sadness. My parents loved me, and then they were murdered."

"Were they?" he asked, curious. She nodded, giving him an unfortunate smile.

"They were targets of the Death Eaters during the final battle. The goal was to eliminate anything that anyone close to Harry Potter held dear. Such as family." There was a highly bitter tone to her voice. "I believe that particular squad was under the control of your father."

"Jesus." He sounded tired. "I never knew Hermione."

"He's gone. I've moved past it."

"Good for you," he said earnestly. "So is that why you hate love? Have you ever been in love?"

"I was once," she nodded. "When I was seventeen, I was almost positive that I was in love with Seamus Finnegan. Don't laugh." The blond was grinning at this news. "I had been seeing him during war training, when we might have been in seventh year. At that point we had no idea when the battle would actually hit, so I was aware of every second. Two days before the war I realized I loved him."

She looked strained, thinking back on a past that hadn't been kind to her. Draco waited for her to continue.

"I told him that day," she said, breathing out deeply. "The next day he left me for Lavender Brown. The day after that, they were both killed."

"Wow. Intense." Draco looked stunned, turning to meet her eyes. "Were you alright?"

"Would you be?"

They fell into a slightly uncomfortable silence. The clock beside Hermione's head flashed five AM.

"What happened next?" he asked, looking straight ahead once more.

"I think... that was about the time when Harry fell into a coma for five months. As an aftermath of the battle, all those new dark spells they came up with," she replied, staring determinedly at the floor. "Believe it or not, that was pretty much the hardest to cope with out of everything. Ron hardly ever spoke to me, and I didn't have Harry to talk to, so I was alone."

"Why wouldn't Weasley talk to you?"

"He was in shock, I think. He had to deal with Harry, and two of his brothers had also been killed that day. We just... had no idea if Harry would ever wake up, and if he would remember anything, and it killed me."

"I wish I'd known you then," Draco muttered. Hermione let out a sharp laugh.

"Do you have any idea how hard I worked to talk to you at Christmas? I told myself I couldn't hate you because of your father, that you were different, and changed and we all knew it, and all that other total bullshit they fed us in the Order. I actually _wanted_ to give you a second chance, and to see what you did with it. That was the main reason I agreed to New Years with you. The party didn't excite me that much; I just saw it as an opportunity."

She cracked a wry smile.

"I'm glad. How did I do with my second chance?" He grinned back.

"Dreadfully. You got me drunk and then forced me into snogging you in front of all types of high society."

"Hey," he said indignantly. "I didn't _force_ you into either of those."

"I was kidding," she said quietly. "You did much better than I expected of you." She leaned her head back and her eyelids fluttered shut. He watched her as her breathing became light and even, realizing he felt wide awake.

He picked her up off of the hard floor, carried her to her own room, and set her beneath the covers. In the doorway he turned around, watching her for a moment, and the slightest of smiles graced his features.

* * *

She slept late the next afternoon. It was almost as if her internal alarm clock hadn't gone off as she just kept sleeping. It wasn't until Draco barged into her room and created a blast of sound with his wand that she woke, wide-eyed. 

"Granger, get up already," he muttered. "I've invited Blaise for dinner." He ripped the curtains open, and Hermione screamed in pain as she was blinded by the sudden flood of light, shielding her eyes. Draco narrowly missed taking a book to the head thrown by the disgruntled brunette, as he ducked back out of the room.

When Hermione stalked out of the washroom half an hour later, drying her hair, she sent Draco a glare. He smirked back, which only further infuriated her.

"I don't think I'll be attending dinner made by you, Malfoy," she said formally. She was being spiteful; his smirk widened into a grin.

"I'm not about to poison you," he replied conversationally.

"Yes, well, you did attempt to blind me not so long ago."

"You wouldn't have gotten up otherwise."

"Excuses," she muttered, before heading back down the hallway.

"Granger, you're _coming_ to dinner," he said calmly, daring her to defy the statement. "At least stop by, will you? Blaise was keen to see you again."

* * *

Despite her bitter promises, the infectious air of excitement that was Blaise Zabini took over her once more, as it had at New Years. Dinner was fine, and relatively clean of any poisonous chemicals. 

"So Blaise," Hermione began as they all sat around the table after dinner, relaxed. "Any particular reason for your visit tonight?"

"Yes, actually," he replied unsurely, taking a thoughtful sip of his whiskey. "Draco said he needed my help on something, but didn't bother to elaborate." The blond looked up innocently, and Hermione groaned internally at the mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Well Blaise, refresh my memory. Are you and SAP currently on or off?" Draco asked politely, and Hermione's eyebrows flew up at the apparent change in topic.

"Off since July now, Draco. Why do you ask?" Blaise responded, setting down his drink.

"What's sap?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

"SAP is Sally-Anne Perks," Draco explained. "She was at Hogwarts with us; I doubt you remember her, Hermione. She's Blaise's girlfriend."

"Sort of, girlfriend. If you plan to use the term very lightly," Blaise broke in.

"They've been on and off for nearly eight years now," Draco continued. "Don't look so impressed. They can't stand each other." Both men laughed, while Hermione sat, bewildered.

"So why are they together?" she asked.

"It's twisted," Blaise informed her. "It's sort of like an anti-conformity to change. I can't see myself ever not being back with her." He shrugged. "Our longest 'off' term was four years."

"What was your longest 'on'?" Hermione was now curious, leaning forward on the table.

"Three months, I believe."

"So _anyway_ you two," Draco broke in, growing impatient. "Hermione's recently informed me that she's having trouble getting back into the dating scene." He spoke as if he were planning a luncheon, ignoring the brunette's glare. "And Blaise, you're just involved by being my best mate, of course."

"Wait, what are you–" Hermione began, but was cut off.

"The two of _you_," Draco went on, gesturing between the two of them, "are going to go on a date." He smiled at his presumed brilliance. "That way Hermione can regain some of her confidence, and Blaise won't need to worry about being alone for one evening."

Hermione was dumbstruck, and she looked to Blaise for help. He shot Draco a conspicuous glance, and Hermione laughed.

"What if we say no?" he asked the blond, who grinned.

"You won't. I've already made the reservations." At the shocked looks from the pair of them, he muttered, "I get bored easily."

"So why Blaise? Why not you?" Hermione asked, meeting his eyes with a suspicious glance.

"Because you already know me too well, it wouldn't be the same as a usual first date. You know each other well enough not to feel awkward, but not too much so that you'll have nothing to talk about," he replied simply, dismissing her confusion. "Trust me, it'll be great."

* * *

So Hermione had trusted him. And so far, she was regretting it. Once he had informed the pair of them of the details of the evening, he had become obsessively interested in his plan. He was knocking on the washroom door once more, lazily leaning against the doorframe. 

"What's taking so bloody long, Granger?" he asked, looking at his watch. There came a muffled, indistinguishable response, and he reached for the doorknob, about to open the door, and Merlin forbid if he saw anything, when the door flew open.

"My hair will _not _co-operate, and there's no _fucking_ way I'm wearing that dress." Her eyes were wild, not to mention her hair.

He shoved open the door, walking into the room. He assessed her with his steady gaze, and Hermione was starting to feel violated as he drew out his wand. He pondered for a moment, before muttering a few spells, and her hair instantly became manageable, curling itself nicely out of the mass of frizz it had been from her shower.

"Your hair is fine," he said disinterestedly, before eyeing the black dress that was still on its hanger. "Granger, you looked cute enough at Blaise's party. But I know him, and I know he'd much rather take hot over cute. Sexy. Electric, even." His grey eyes were smoky, and Hermione didn't particularly want to know what he was thinking.

Without warning, he waved his wand at her once more, and she screamed as her simple t-shirt and workout pants were replaced with the dress. If she hadn't felt violated before, she certainly did now, as she felt his eyes tracing down her in a leisurely manner.

"Draco," she whined. "I can't wear this. Just _look_ at this cleavage." She realized too late that was the wrong thing to say as he met her gaze, raising an eyebrow, his lips curved into a smirk.

"Mmm, I am, Granger," he muttered, grinning as she swung at him. "I see what you're saying though."

He frowned, calculating again. She sighed, as he had finally given in.

"There _definitely _isn't enough of it."

His wand was out once more, and Hermione swallowed nervously as he began fiddling with the neckline of the dress.

"I didn't change much," he informed her as he finished, and Hermione tried to ignore the fact that the dress now clung even lower. "Don't worry, I'd never allow you to leave this flat looking like a whore."

"That's a great reassurance," she said darkly, and he grinned.

"Good to be of assistance." He fell silent, adding some finishing touches to her hair and makeup. During the process Hermione had tried to pretend he wasn't there, but his exhalation brought her back to the present. Draco was regarding her with something she couldn't quite place in his eyes.

"What is it?" she asked, concerned.

"You look..." he trailed off, drifting a hand lazily to her hip, and around to her back. Hermione was lost in his gaze, drawn closer by the touch of his strong hand on the small of her back. He lifted his other hand, tracing the smooth skin of her neck, sliding absently into the curls.

Hermione was fighting against the heat to keep her eyes open, and was the first to realize the type of position they were in.

"Electric?" she offered in a small voice, and his eyes jerked open, alarmed. He removed his hands suddenly, jamming them in his pockets.

"Yes, electric," he muttered, his voice lower than usual.

"So you think Blaise will like it?"

"Only if he's any sort of man at all," Draco replied, taking another step back, looking insecure. He was stubbornly refusing to meet her gaze.

The doorbell rang, and Hermione bit her lip.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "I'll be home later."

He looked up then, nodding rather voraciously.

"Have a good time." His smile looked forced, but Hermione just nodded, before answering the door and leaving with Blaise.

"For fuck's sake, Draco..." the blond muttered to himself once he realized he was alone, running a hand through his hair. "...in so much shit."


	5. Chapter 5

And Chapter Five...

Nothing new to say, really. If you enjoy I'd hope for you to drop a quick line to let me know.

As always, I own only the plot.

* * *

Oh, if Blaise wasn't extraordinary, Hermione didn't know the definition, she was sure. He was entirely charming, and quite possibly the most entertaining man she had ever met.

She had to hand props to Draco however; the restaurant was fabulous and the server kept bringing free champagne.

Blaise had kept a steady flow of conversation going throughout dinner, discussing everything from work, to house elves, to Draco's escapades at Hogwarts. He had even complimented her dress. Although Hermione wasn't certain whether the compliment had been for the dress itself, or, like Draco had suggested, for what the dress didn't cover. Either way, she realized she didn't mind.

He had treated the evening like she suspected he would any first date. Except that he was mocking the situation, and essentially Draco, by instructing her on what he would do on a date that hadn't been set up by a mutual friend.

"Ah, see now, I would notice that my date seems to have finished her glass of champagne, and I would offer to fill it for her." His dark eyes glinted with humour and his lips quirked into a grin.

"I would _of course_ have to oblige to that glass, Blaise," Hermione said, smiling back, as he filled her glass to the top once more.

Hermione almost sensed a different side of him, one that treated the date with all seriousness. Maybe he just assumed that he still had an impression to make.

A couple of glasses later, Hermione was starting to tire of the idle chatter as they both relaxed, full of top notch food. The server had brought the bill and Blaise had paid, insisting that she owed him nothing. She didn't want the evening to end. She leaned across the table, meeting Blaise's eyes.

"So what would you do now?" she asked in a low voice.

"Well," he began, matching her volume. "At this point, if I thought the date was going well, I might ask her out on another, or else I would politely decline further relations. However, if I had an incredible time, and I knew she had as well, I'd probably kiss her."

He had held her eye contact the whole time, and Hermione's breath hitched at his last statement.

"Would you ever spend the night with a girl on a first date?" Hermione asked, curious. He laughed, looking away.

"I have before on occasion, yes," he replied evasively. The server brought back Blaise's card, and he stood, helping Hermione into her coat. When they walked out into the night air and Blaise zipped up his own coat, Hermione bit her lip. This couldn't be it.

"Blaise, since this is a type of simulation of a date and all," she began hesitantly, "could you tell me how I might have measured up?"

"How do _you_ measure up, Hermione?" he repeated, laughing. "I'm not too sure you want the answer to that."

"Yes I do," she answered, perhaps too quickly, as he smirked slowly.

"Alright. If this were a date I would have kissed you," he admitted, and Hermione couldn't bring herself to hate how disappointed she was when he said "would have."

"Blaise, will you just cut out the hypothetical bull for a minute and kiss me," she said quietly, stepping closer to him. He regarded her with a puzzled expression for a moment, almost surprised, before he grinned, taking her face in his hand.

"Yeah, okay," he muttered, leaning in to do as she asked. When his lips met hers, she felt rejuvenated in a way she hadn't since she had been with Oliver, and she kissed him back hard, trailing one hand down south, not caring that they were still just outside of the restaurant.

He pulled away, grabbing her arm.

"How drunk are you?" he asked, staring into her eyes.

"Not _that_ drunk."

"Are you sure about this?"

"Mhm, Blaise, I want to if you want to."

"Hermione, when I have a beautiful woman groping me, _I want to_, okay?" He looked somewhere between hurt and aroused. "Please, never insult my masculinity like that ever again."

"Fair enough," she laughed, re-connecting her lips to his, and didn't pull away even when she felt the spin of apparation and realized they were no longer outside.

And ironically, the dress that Draco had fought so hard to get Hermione to wear ended the night carelessly tossed on the floor of his best friend's bedroom.

* * *

When Hermione stumbled into the flat after work the next day, she was so intent on a nap to catch up on lost sleep from the night before that she wasn't watching as she nearly walked right into Draco. 

"Hey," he said, ducking out of the way to avoid being knocked over. She looked up, and jumped to see him standing there.

"Hey Draco," she continued on her way, but he grabbed her arm, stopping her.

"What time did you get home last night? I didn't hear you come in," he commented, and she rubbed her eyes with her free hand, sighing.

"I _didn't_ come home. Hence why I'm falling asleep as I speak to you," she replied, grinning lightly.

"Yeah? Where did you go?" he asked.

"I went to Blaise's," she said, yawning, and his eyes narrowed.

"What were you doing there?" His voice was getting lower, and his fingers still on her wrist were tightening.

"We played _chess_, Draco," she said, glaring at him. She ripped her arm away from his grip. "What do you _think_ we did?"

"What, you _fucked_ him?" His eyes were burning into her, and his lips were set in a deep frown.

"If you need to be crude about it, then yes," she replied angrily, trying to walk past him.

"_Why_?"

"Because I wanted to, Draco. Are you honestly mad? You were the one who set us up in the first place, to get me to move on."

"First of all, it wasn't a set-up. It was just to get you back into the system. It wasn't an invitation for you to run off and sleep with my best friend." He wasn't looking at her now, and he ran a hand through his hair.

"Okay, I've been refreshed. And I did have a good time. Why does it bother you so much about Blaise?" Her voice was rising in pitch and volume.

"Because I didn't think you were the type of girl who'd be that easy on a first date," he muttered, scathingly. He met her eyes then, and instantly regretted his comment at the pain and shock within them. As he opened his mouth to apologize, she shook her head, shoving past him and slamming the door of her room in his face.

* * *

She was avoiding him. And doing a bloody good job of it, if you asked Draco's opinion. Every time he had tried to speak with her, to try and apologize, she would ignore him. It seemed that her relationships with everyone she knew; Potter, Weasley, even Blaise, seemed to be growing as she spent an increasing number of hours out of the flat. 

The few words she shared with him were necessary ones, and often riddled with sarcasm and cruelty.

"Pass the salt," she had grumbled earlier at dinner. "Oh sorry. That _wasn't_ me coming onto you, in case you think I'm being easy again."

He had grit his teeth and passed her the salt.

"You know, Granger," he had stated several minutes later, slamming down his fork. "I _do_ care about you, regardless of what you think. And the only reason I'm bothering to give you my opinion is because I don't want you to be hurt again, and if you keep up this _lifestyle_ you're following, in ten years you won't have a clue."

"Malfoy, I learned long ago that the way to stay happy is to keep your heart out of it. Don't _worry_ about me." Her eyes were flashing.

"That's just it," he protested. "By the time you realize how great you could have it if you just took a bloody _risk_ now and then, it'll quite possibly be too late."

She had stormed out then, leaving behind her half-eaten dinner, locking herself once more in her room. When Blaise's owl arrived half an hour later, Draco had knocked on her door, quietly handed her the letter and walked off, unable to meet her angry gaze.

Hermione had calmed down enough to leave her room another hour later, but didn't expect Draco to be in a state of shock in the living room, clutching a book tightly with white knuckles, enraptured by the wireless radio beside him.

As Hermione froze in realization as she listened to the last words of the song, she was too late. The voice announced that the song had been the most recent work of Celestina Warbeck and she was suddenly horrified.

"Draco, turn it off," she said quickly, frowning. He buried his face in his hands, not noticing her, and she ran to shut it off herself. When he looked up at her, eyes dull, he looked entirely lost.

"Did you hear what she called it?" He asked, and Hermione shook her head, sitting next to him. "It was called "If Only I Could Obliviate Myself." They said before it started."

"I didn't know." She bit her lip, anger forgotten.

"She wrote it about _me_, she _told _me. She regrets me that much." He looked stunned himself at this statement. "She wishes she had never involved herself with me, and I can't _fucking_ move past her."

"Draco, then she doesn't deserve to be in your thoughts," she assured him quietly, but he shook his head.

"She _hates_ me. And now _you_ hate me too, and everyone bloody hates me." He ran a hand through his already tousled hair.

"I don't," Hermione said quietly, biting her lip. "I overreacted; you were right."

"Was not," he replied shortly. "Look Hermione, it's not my place to involve myself in your personal life. Even if you just want to fool around with Blaise. Go right ahead."

"Well, _actually_," she began, avoiding his gaze. "Blaise owled me; apparently _SAP_ is back, and I'm automatically out of the picture."

"She always tends to realize how much she needs him when he's involved with someone else," Draco said, frowning. "I'm sorry." Hermione shrugged.

"I need to quit running away from an actual relationship." She sighed heavily, leaning her head back into the couch behind her, closing her eyes shortly, admitting, "it scares me."

"A lot of people are intimidated by serious relationships," Draco reasoned, though she felt no less embarrassed. "As well, you have sufficient reasoning to be worried."

"So do _you_," she continued. "Your parents were also killed in the war, as well as many of your housemates. I don't see you shunning the whole idea of love."

He coughed loudly, and Hermione started, before realizing he was trying not to laugh.

"Did you pay _no_ attention to me whatsoever in Hogwarts?" He asked, almost incredulous. He took a long gulp of his water before continuing. "I was the anti-committed."

"Oh right," Hermione admitted, flushing a light pink. "I remember Lavender talking about you all the time."

"Did she?" he asked, seemingly interested. He scrunched up his nose after a thought, shaking his head. "Can't say I thought about her too often. If it helps at all about her stealing Finnegan from you."

Her mouth dropped open, as she stared at him curiously. It wasn't until his lips curved up into a smirk that she grinned, laughing.

"Just a bit," she replied, still smiling absently. He too rested his head against the back of the couch, turning to look at her. His gaze became too intense and she eventually looked away.

"I can't stand having you angry at me," he said softly.

"We both took it too far, Draco," she said earnestly, meeting his eyes once more. "I hate seeing you upset about something you had no control over. It isn't your fault she chose to be unfaithful to you. Brooding over it and blaming yourself won't help you move on."

"What if I can't get myself to move on?" His voice held a hidden tinge of desperation.

"Alright, then you'll either spend the rest of your life freezing at the sound of her voice on the radio, or if you get back together by some strange chance, you'll still be unhappy, knowing that she doesn't care as much about you as you do about her."

He exhaled deeply, and Hermione hadn't realized he had a breath held. She frowned, seeing him so dismantled.

"I can move on," he said quietly, and Hermione wasn't sure whether he was speaking to her or just assuring himself, so she said nothing.

"How about we both take a sick day tomorrow and go into London?" she asked, eyes lit up, and he smiled wryly.

"Sounds good." He stood, pulling her up with him, and wrapped his arms around her in a hug. "I'm such a pussy some days," he muttered conversationally in her ear. "Not too sure why you put up with me."

* * *

The next morning Hermione hauled him out of bed early, informing him that she had already owled them both sick. Ignoring his lost expression and heavy blinking, she quickly tossed some clothes at him, shoving him into the washroom. 

Twenty minutes later, looking awake and refreshed, he walked out. She was already dressed in jeans and a sweater, and he had to grin at her enthusiasm.

"So what are we doing?" He asked, as they walked out of the flat.

"I'm not too sure yet. Any ideas?"

"Well," he began, eyes bright. "There is this Quidditch game in the world series that's playing not far from here. If you want to go that is." He snuck a peek at her expression, and she grinned.

"Quidditch it is."

The game was France versus Turkey, and Draco was cheering for France, and so Hermione did as well. She knew nothing about either team, but Draco kept her informed throughout.

"The French beater," he muttered under his breath amidst the cheering, "the one on the far side. He recently took a bludger to the throat and couldn't speak for nearly a month." Her eyes widened and she rubbed her own throat almost subconsciously.

The game went on for almost six hours, and each time Draco asked Hermione if she wanted to leave she'd reply with a no. Truthfully, she was rather enjoying it herself. The final score was 270 to 340 after the French seeker swiped the snitch from near the Turkish goals.

After the game, Draco treated her to dinner as a repayment of allowing him to spend most of their day off watching Quidditch. And disregarding his urging, she didn't order the most expensive item on the menu, out of sheer courtesy. That, and she didn't feel like eating any of the pricier food.

He watched her throughout most of dinner, thoughtfully sipping his water. If she caught him peeking, he'd just give her a slightly embarrassed grin, which would stop her from being suspicious of him. It was cute, in a way. Like a grade school boy with his paper cut-out valentines.

"Thanks," he said, almost awkwardly, after dinner. "For this. For taking the day off with me."

"I'm pretty sure you needed it," she replied, grinning wryly. He was still watching her with that curious look.

"Yeah, I suppose I did. Even if I did selfishly hog our day off by watching Quidditch. Next time I swear you pick the activity."

"Ah, you don't want that," she laughed. "We'll end up spending the day job hunting or exploring some new book display or something like that."

"Are you looking for another job again?" She averted her gaze, dipping her spoon into her tall glass of water, pulling out an ice cube.

"Sort of. They had told me if I missed another day of work I needn't come in again. I didn't actually owl myself in sick today." She flushed lightly, and his mouth fell open.

"You got yourself fired over me?" He looked upset, angry.

"I honestly hated it. And I _tried_ to get over it, to convince myself that it's just a job, and that I need rent money and cash to pay for life. But I just..." she cast off, looking for the way to express her thoughts. "I _couldn't_ just believe that this is the type of job I'll have for life. I need something _else_."

She was almost desperate as she ended, biting her lip nervously as she lifted her gaze to his. He sighed, shaking his head.

"I don't blame you for wanting more. I just wish you'd told me today would mean you being fired."

"I was going to anyway. Don't worry," she added quickly, "I've made sure I have enough money saved to pay my portion of the rent this month."

"Alright," he said, smirking slightly. "Since you have no plans tomorrow so far, and since I have field research tomorrow, and don't work until the afternoon, why not have a round of drinks?"

She nodded, smiling at the cynicism in his tone. He summoned the waiter, and when the drinks came, he raised his glass to her in a toast, a dark glint in his eye.

Several hours later, the pair arrived back at the flat, more than slightly intoxicated, although Draco would insist he was perfectly sober. Hermione threw herself down on Draco's bed in his room.

He followed, dropping onto the other side of the bed, turning to look at her as she gazed at the ceiling, cheeks flushed.

"Where do you get off behaving as if you own my room?" he asked, mocking anger.

"You've never kicked me out before, have you?" Rolling around restlessly, she finally settled with her face rather close to his pillow. "If I fall asleep, can you just leave me here?" She moved her way even closer to his side of the bed, drawing the covers over herself, shutting her eyes peacefully.

"If you're about to sleep here, you'll need to move back to the other side," he informed her.

"Why?" She frowned, not moving away.

"Because if you stay this close, I won't be able to _just leave you there_." She blinked at him several times through heavy eyelashes, mouth agape, before she caught on. She grinned lazily before breaking into high pitched laughter.

His brow furrowed with distress and frustration as he looked at her.

"Goodnight," he grumbled, turning away from her, as she finally settled down, and presumably fell asleep as well.

* * *

As Draco blinked himself into focus late the next morning, head twinging only slightly, he had to ponder why Hermione might be laying next to him, still fast asleep.

They obviously hadn't done anything, but he still had to think. It wasn't for a moment that the memory of the previous night came back to him, and how she had asked for him not to move her. Satisfied, he stood and dressed, preparing himself for the day.

Hermione joined him in the kitchen as he was preparing lunch, settling herself on a stool with a groan. She skimmed through the fresh copy of _The Daily Prophet_, mildly interested..

She tossed it aside as he handed her a plate and she managed to get most of it down. She walked into the living room and grabbed a book, sprawling lazily on the couch.

Draco grabbed the paper, and walked in after her, taking a seat next to her. He snorted in laughter as he read an article. Hermione looked over in mild curiosity, one eyebrow raised.

"Look at this; _Man kills four women, claims to be a vampire_," he read, still laughing.

"Vampires aren't that funny, Draco. _Especially_ if he killed four women." Her chastisement made him grin at her.

"He isn't actually. He was just using it as his defense for sucking the life out of them, his _fangs_ weren't even real." At this, Hermione laughed herself, leaning over to read the whole article.

"He actually drank their blood?"

"Apparently so," Draco commented, finishing the article himself. "Some people are just a little off."

"Who would believe they could pretend to be a vampire to justify murder?" She was scoffing, and Draco drew his wand, grinning darkly.

"Well, I personally like to dine on a woman's blood now and then," he said, pointing the wand at his own throat, as he instantly sprouted fangs.

She instinctively backed away, laughing as he pretended to sink his newly-created fangs into her neck. She felt his breath on her neck, warm and inviting; her laughter stopped and her own breath caught in her throat. He too froze as he realized the awkwardness of the close situation.

Her hands, which had prior been held up in defense, seemed to be working of their own accord as she placed them delicately at the back of his head, moving his face even closer to her neck.

His head jerked up, and his eyes met hers. There was confusion, bewilderment, the slightest hint of amusement.

"What are you doing?" he muttered, almost whispered; his voice was low.

"I want to know what it feels like. Go on," she replied, lips quirked into a smile. He laughed, still leaned in close to her, and she felt the vibration.

"I'm not actually going to drink your blood," he pointed out, holding her eye contact.

"Come on," she muttered, maneuvering his mouth back to her throat. She took his hand that was still holding his wand, ripped it away from him and pointed it at herself. His eyes narrowed and his lips curved into a smirk as she cast the spell and her neck started to drip blood, slowly.

His eyes flashed as he gave up and ducked in, using his tongue to gather the lost blood. He ran it meticulously up the side of her neck, to the two small holes that may well have been made by a vampire's fangs. His lips met the skin over the wound then, and she unconsciously dug her fingers into his hair, and it felt like silk, and she held him in place.

His lips on her neck felt absolutely dynamic; once he had given in he was gone, and he was sucking, licking her throat, painfully slow, and his hands were behind her head, provocatively pulling her closer, despite the unorthodox situation.

Hermione had forgotten to feel confused, to wonder what exactly was going on, as her head fell back against the soft material of the sofa. She bit her lower lip hard to keep from hinting him in to how much she was actually enjoying his ministrations. The last thing she wanted at the moment was to scare him off.

The only thought in his head at that moment was of how thrilling, how exciting her flesh was to him. Though his magical fangs had vanished, and the wound in her neck was no longer open, he couldn't manage to pull away, couldn't find himself bothered to breathe. And he was inching upwards ever so slowly, biting, tantalizingly, the skin just below the curve of her jaw.

Her eyes, which had drifted shut, opened nervously as she felt his lips move up, and his hands slid down to the back of her neck. He finally pulled away then, rested his head in the crook of her neck; she could feel his heavy breathing.

Draco lifted his face to hers, meeting her eyes for the first time in what felt like ages, and seeing her expression, allowed himself to smile faintly. He repositioned himself, leaning almost entirely over her now, his feet on the floor behind him, and rested his forehead upon hers.

Her hands still present at the back of his head were giving him quite a clear indication of her intentions, as she was applying just enough pressure to move him closer.

His lips met hers, and Draco was unprepared for the intensity, the shock of energy that raced through him. Her lips were soft, warm, riddled with intrigue. He pressed his own hard against hers, relieved, excited to feel her return the kiss. He wanted more.

Prepared to take a risk, he bit down, hard enough to be considered painful, on her lower lip. Drew it into his mouth, ran his tongue delicately over. She tasted fabulous. Kissing her full on again, his tongue flicked out to her lips, and they parted to allow him free reign.

For Hermione the experience was a shocking, but not unwelcome one. When his tongue met hers, she shuddered with the overwhelming physical awareness. Her hands still buried in his hair pulled him closer, furiously, though there was little empty space left between them.

One of his hands remained on her neck, supporting her head, as the other slid down to the middle of her back. Slowly due to his preoccupation of her lips, he pulled her up, to meet him standing. Her body crashed hard into his, and all remaining space vanished, as his arms wrapped tightly around her once more.

The kiss was escalating, picking up speed and ferocity, desperation. With each stroke of his tongue, Draco tasted her deeper, and she mirrored his intense efforts, not even realizing what she was doing. As far as she was consciously aware at the moment, this man, giving her such excitement and enjoyment was the only other being to exist aside from her.

And she didn't care that he was Draco Malfoy, that he was her roommate, that he was one of her best friends... she just cared that he wasn't about to stop, to leave her short of this heat that would've quickly persuaded her to do anything he might have asked...

As she was moving one hand to meet his, to guide him somewhere that she wasn't even sure of, he suddenly jumped, wrenching his lips away from hers, distancing himself adequately from her. He was regarding her with an expression of confusion, of regret. Of more than slight arousal. Arousal that she was sure was also clearly evident in her own eyes. And to see him breathing in such a way, harsh, erratic, set off such disappointment in her.

"I've got--" he choked out, swallowing heavily. He turned to look at the clock on the wall behind him, and Hermione followed his gaze.

"You have to go to work," she finished for him, in a low voice, quietly.

"Yeah," he replied weakly, ignoring her anxious eyes. "See you later." His tone was highly distracted, his eyes burning a hole in the hardwood floor. She nodded voraciously, about to say something else when with a small _pop_, he was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter six!

I wasn't going to post the next chapter yet, but seeing as today is officially my fourth year on fanfiction, I figured why not. Anyway here it is. Please review!

* * *

By the time Draco got home after long, grueling session of field research, Hermione had already gone to bed. When he got up the next morning there was a note saying she had gone shopping with Harry and Ron. If Draco didn't know any better, he'd say it seemed as if she was ignoring him. Again.

And he wasn't sure he knew any better. For all he knew, she could very well be avoiding him. With good reason, also. He'd just _had_ to go and kiss her, and make everything so awkward. They weren't even together or anything.

Yet, he'd done it because he bloody wanted it more than anything, with no regard to what _she_ had wanted. The tiny part of his brain that was suggesting she had wanted it also by the way she kissed him back was really starting to get on his nerves. He shouldn't be feeling good about basically violating her friendship, her trust, her body.

He wanted so badly to talk to her, to explain himself, but he obviously couldn't if she kept _hiding_. But what would he even be able to say.

By the time he saw her next, eating breakfast at the table as if nothing had happened, he froze. When he sat down across from her, hoping to clear things up, he lost his trail of thought.

"Have you got a new job yet?" he asked, eyes wide with terror at the realization of what he'd said. He saw one eyebrow raise before her head did from the paper, and she met his eyes with disbelief.

"Is that honestly all you have to say?" She set down her spoon, fixing him with a curious stare.

"No," he sighed. "I don't know what to say. I apologize?" She snorted into her cereal.

"You _apologize_? For what, practically ravishing me? As far as I knew, we were both kidding around about the whole vampire thing. You took a pretty serious turn somewhere. Unless there was a room full of high society watching us that I didn't notice." He paled as she spoke, but noticed a hint of humour in her tone.

"Yes, I apologize. For all of that. Look, I don't know what you're expecting from me. We were joking, I kissed you, you kissed me back," he added, looking pointedly at her.

"That I did," she agreed, smiling faintly. "You definitely threw me in a loop. Did you enjoy it at least?"

"Of course I did," he scoffed darkly. "I tend not to do things I don't like. You enjoyed it, didn't you?" His insecurity was obvious, and Hermione had to grin.

"Yes, Draco, I did. So what do we do about it? Ignore it and pretend it never happened?"

"We could," he pondered. "Or, we could _not_. We could pretend it did happen."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe," he began, not meeting her eyes, "we could do it again. Sometime."

"Ooh, I understand. We could kiss, _again_ sometime," she concluded. He nodded. "As if we were together. It's a possibility."

They were both silent, thinking, until Hermione glanced up, shaking her head.

"It wouldn't work. It would be awkward and messy, and we'd have serious problems once it came to an inevitable failure."

"Why?" he asked, somewhat shocked.

"Because, Draco, you like relationships and I don't. I can't take serious, and you just _lived _serious."

"We could compromise," he suggested, interrupting her. She fell silent, closing her mouth as she considered it.

"We _could_ compromise. How would that work?"

"Well, I could loosen up and understand that you aren't interested in anything committed, and you could try to be about more than sex," he reasoned.

She nodded, eyes glinting with excitement. She walked closer to him, extending her hand.

"I'd like to have a real relationship with you, Draco," she stated formally. He stood as well, eyebrows raised and lips smirked, and shook her hand emphatically. "Just, hang on." She didn't release his hand, but instead reached her other arm around his neck, maneuvering his lips to meet hers in another kiss, before pulling away and giving his hand one final shake, smiling. "Yes, I think this could work."

* * *

And so the relationship, which Draco personally thought had the strangest beginning of all time, had taken off. He gave Hermione plenty of space, and didn't force her into anything serious.

Hermione, though true to her word of giving a substantial part of her mind to the relationship, couldn't quite resist getting him into the sack on the second night they were together, not that Draco had any severe objections. She had told him to be proud she had waited until night two.

Harry had sent her an invitation to dinner in celebration of his engagement to Ginny. Truthfully, Hermione had been surprised. If anything, she had thought the pair's relationship had been getting steadily worse rather than better, but thought it wasn't her place to question their love for one another. The letter said to bring a guest, and so she was dragging a begrudged Draco along with her.

"Hermione," he muttered angrily, yanking his wrist out of her grip. "They don't even know we're together yet. Are you sure this is the best time to tell them?"

"I'd rather tell my friends now than wait any longer, Draco," she replied airily. "Get yourself ready at least, will you?"

"_Hermione_," he continued, following her into the kitchen. "They were angry enough when you _moved in_ here. I don't particularly wish to be castrated by your best friends."

"Fine, you damn Hufflepuff," Hermione said, frustrated. His jaw dropped, snapped shut and remained closed as he dressed and followed her out of their flat, fuming silently all the way. He failed to notice the satisfied smirk upon the brunette's features.

As Hermione pushed the doorbell to the flat, she reached for one of Draco's hands, both of which he stubbornly slid into his pockets. Raising her eyebrows, she surveyed him with a disapproving glance, but said nothing.

When the door opened to display the tall figure of Harry Potter, Hermione grinned. She ran forward, hugging him tightly, ignoring the scowl Draco was giving the other man.

"Hey Herms! Er, Malfoy..."

"Hello Potter."

"You couldn't find a date on short notice, Herms?" Harry asked sympathetically.

"Actually Harry, Draco is my date," Hermione replied defiantly. "We've been together for three weeks now."

She could see the shock pass through his expression as Draco glanced around, avoiding Harry's gaze. Hermione wasn't sure whether she feared more for Harry's mental health or Draco's physical.

"Herms, a word," Harry choked out, pulling her into the flat and closing the door on Draco's face. The blond stared blankly, unsure whether to bolt, as the door opened again and Hermione pulled him inside, glaring at Harry.

"You can say anything to the both of us, Harry," Hermione stated.

"Okay then. _Why_?"

"It just sort of... happened," she said, smiling at Draco.

"Ron is going to flip, you realize that?" Harry asked in a low voice, glancing at each of them in turn. Draco choked out something incomprehensible, taking Hermione's hand and pulling her closer to the door again.

"Why is Ron going to flip, Harry?" came the amused voice of Ron Weasley as he walked casually into the room. He stopped, the grin sliding off his features as his eyes ran over the pair's still clasped hands. "Hey there, Herms. What's going on?" His voice was cautious, and Hermione sighed.

"Hermione and Malfoy are dating, apparently," Harry answered for her. Hermione glanced nervously at Ron, her fingers still entwined with Draco's, and watched the redhead turn red in the face.

"Are you really dating, or are you just fucking around?" Ron asked, and Hermione thought she detected a twinge of hopefulness to his voice.

"We're dating," Draco replied, rather harshly.

"So what, you haven't shagged just once?"

"Ron, stuff it. That is _not_ your business," Hermione burst angrily. "Now, can you both just get over this? Draco and I came for a nice dinner, but not if you're going to be regarding us as if we might set fire to your flat."

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, Harry breaking it with a half-hearted shrug.

"It's fine, Herms. I apologize," he said, walking off into the living room, Ron on his heels. Hermione exhaled, glancing over at Draco. He shot her a conspiratorial grin.

"It could've been worse, no?" He asked, and she laughed.

"In several obvious ways, yes," she replied, leaning into him. "Thank you."

"I hardly did anything," he said in a low tone. He slid his arm down to wrap around her waist, and moved her to face him. His other hand went to her face, tilting her chin so as to make the best contact of his lips on hers. As they were close enough to breathe the same air, Hermione broke away at a loud, high pitched voice.

"Hermione?" Ginny was standing in the doorway, staring wide-eyed, mouth agape. "How _are_ you?"

"Hey Gin, I'm fine," Hermione greeted, shooting Draco a nervous look. She gave Ginny a tight hug. "Congratulations."

"Thanks Hermione," Ginny said, smiling widely. "We're so excited." She seemed to have forgotten about everything.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" she suddenly asked, giving the blond a questioning stare.

"It would appear I'm standing in this entry way with Hermione," he stated blandly, looking clearly disinterested.

"Looked like you were about to do more with Hermione in the entry way just a moment ago," Ginny said, an evil grin on her face. Draco exchanged a look with Hermione.

"I was, as a matter of fact," he replied. Ginny noticed his arm around Hermione's back and adopted a look of comprehension.

"Took you two long enough, I think," Ginny said. "I bet Ron and Harry were shocked."

"We're _over_ it!" came the falsely cheery voice of Ron from the next room. Ginny laughed and led the other two into the kitchen.

The dinner was mildly successful, and Hermione and Draco were both sufficiently full by the time the plates cleared themselves. Hermione had been uninformed that Harry had invited plenty more people to join the party after dinner, and she was getting quite tired of explaining herself and Draco to all of her old school friends, and still more people not from Hogwarts, when she really just wanted to sit and talk to him.

In particular the photographer from a questionable wizard magazine that Harry had invited for whatever reason was quite excited to see them. Supposedly the fact that they had both been involved with people of significant profiles in the wizarding world made them important to the tabloids.

The noise, the overcrowding of people and the great abundance of alcohol eventually got to Hermione, and she felt herself becoming irritated. She had wanted to have a fun night with her best friends and Draco, and now she hadn't even seen Harry, Ron or Ginny in over an hour.

She buried her face into the shoulder of the blond sitting next to her, and he smirked down at her.

"You want to leave?" he asked quietly, and she lifted her head, nodding in relief. He laughed.

"I want to go for a walk or something," she said, her face still pressed into him for comfort.

"Alright, let's walk." He somehow located Harry in the mass of people and explained themselves. He came back for Hermione, still on the couch, her head throbbing and pulled her out of the flat.

Once the cool night breeze hit Hermione, she felt almost instantly better. They strolled down a random back street, hand in hand, discussing things of no great importance. Both were floating in a slight drunken haze, and so their path wasn't particularly straight and calculated.

After some time Draco paused, causing Hermione to stop as well and stare at him curiously.

"Where are we?" he asked, glancing around, nose wrinkled.

"A street?" she asked, expression blank. He stared at her for a moment before breaking into laughter.

"You're so drunk," he commented in her ear.

"Not as drunk as you are," she protested.

"Not true," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her neck. His arms snuck around her waist, and hers around his neck, and she pulled him up to kiss him hard on the lips attacking him with her teeth and tongue.

"Draco," she breathed in his ear as she pulled away for air, "I want you so bad right now." He smirked, pulling her in closer, kissing her again. He jumped as he felt her hands on him, and he looked down to see she had somehow undone his pants without him noticing. He suddenly realized just how serious she was.

"We're in public," he muttered, pulling her hands away. "And too drunk to risk apparating."

"So what? No one's around." Her dark eyes twinkled with mischief. As he was about to surrender the last of his common sense, he spotted two teenaged boys across the street watching with wide eyes. He shot them a glare and they sent him a thumbs up gesture.

He tore away from Hermione, quickly doing up his jeans, and walked across the road to the younger boys.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he hissed, grey eyes narrowed.

"Watching," the taller of the two replied simply, sneering. "Get on with it already."

"You're disgusting," Draco said, feeling sickened. "You think I'm actually going to do anything with my girlfriend now that I know the two of you are here?"

"Who cares? You've got her mate." The other replied.

Draco laughed darkly. The two shared an annoyed glance, before drawing wands, attempting to look menacing. Through his peripheral vision Draco saw Hermione cross the street, eyeing the teens with humour. She took his hand, giving it a tight squeeze. He looked over, and she smirked at him.

"What are those you've got there?" Draco asked mockingly. The boys grinned, imagining themselves to be victorious. Obviously they had been hoping Draco and Hermione were muggles. "Oh, I see! They're wands, aren't they?"

Draco pulled his own wand from his pocket, twirling it with skill. The blood drained from the faces of the two boys.

"What are you two, fourth years?" Hermione asked, eyes focused.

"Fifth after the summer," the first boy said defiantly. The other was openly staring at Hermione's chest. Draco slipped his wand beneath the boy's chin, forcing his head upwards. Draco sent him a warning glance.

"Hogwarts I presume?" Draco asked, smirking as they nodded nervously. "Why don't you two little wankers move along and I may conveniently forget to mention this to McGonagall, hmm?"

The first grabbed the others' sleeve and they took off running. Hermione fell into Draco laughing and he smiled faintly, kissing her quickly before taking her hand and continuing to walk.

"Come on," he muttered suddenly, dragging her to a large open sports field. He laid on his back in the grass and Hermione settled herself next to him, resting her head on his chest.

"You like stars?" he asked softly, playing with her hair. She nodded and they fell into silence, watching the black night sky. When he noticed she had fallen asleep he cast a heating charm on her and allowed himself to rest his eyes as well, tightening his grip on her.

* * *

When Draco arrived home from work several days later, he found Hermione poring over a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. She looked up when he walked into the kitchen, eyes sparkling. 

"I've got an interview," she said happily.

"For what?" he asked, curious.

"I'm not actually sure," she said, biting her lip. "But the man said he would explain it all once he met me, and I _really_ need to start making money again. I owe you rent money already."

"I've told you not to worry about it for now," he reminded her.

"I know," she scoffed. "But how often do I actually listen to what you tell me?"

He laughed. "Let's go out for dinner," he suggested, looking to her for an opinion.

"I'd like that," she replied, grinning.

Just over an hour later the pair walked into a posh looking restaurant in Diagon Alley, hand in hand. Hermione had convinced him to choose a place she could dress up for. He had of course complied.

"Hermione!" called a voice as they were being seated. She looked around and jolted, spotting Harry, Ron, Ginny and Padma. The hostess magically extended the table and Hermione walked over to sit, dragging an unwilling blond with her. He saw Harry and Ron exchange a glance, but Hermione hadn't noticed it so he said nothing. Instead he spent the majority of the evening in silence, observing the conversation and wishing it were just him and her.

Even when the other group left Draco still felt particularly subdued. He told Hermione he was tired from a long day at work when she asked, and she believed him readily, insisting they should go home so he could sleep.

That night as Draco laid in bed, he clung to Hermione like a lifeline, but when her breathing became deep and even, he stayed awake, his brain far too alive to comprehend the idea of sleep, too many thoughts wild in his head. None of which he could piece together to make rational sense, which unnerved him further.


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione stormed into the flat after her interview some days later, angrily pouring herself a glass of water, which she downed in a single gulp. She tossed her things into her room and walked back to the kitchen, sitting down the read the _Prophet_.

She found herself so emotional, however, that she threw away the paper with a huff. Burying her head in her arms, she suddenly felt so hopeless. How was it that other people could get jobs, and actually _keep_ them? Let alone successful jobs. She often wished she'd achieved her Hogwarts diploma. Damn war forcing her away from school.

Things would have just been _easier_. She was sure of it. And instead, she went to interviews where creepy old men named Horace asked if she'd ever had experience escaping out of _handcuffs_, for Merlin's sake!

She sighed, fighting back a sudden urge for a strong glass of firewhiskey. But it wasn't even noon yet.

She wanted Draco. It hit her out of nowhere, so strong that her mind was sent reeling. She just wanted him there with her, to sit and assure her that she could find a job. And that she was worth more than twenty galleons a "show."

To ridicule the entire prospect with her, to hold her tight and remind her that she didn't have nothing.

Pushing the gathering of overpowering emotions delicately to the back of her mind, she set out to make a sandwich. After the old Muggle toaster she'd bought failed to pop in time, burnt her bread, and after she'd put out the fire she sunk back into her seat, defeated.

She thought again about that glass of firewhiskey.

She took a conspicuous glance towards the cabinet. Just one glass couldn't do much but calm her nerves, she decided.

She quickly poured herself a glass, walking it back over to the table. She jumped as she heard a tapping sound, slamming it down hard, spilling some liquid over the edges.

It was only an owl. Hedwig, to be exact. She let the owl in, giving her a treat, and Hedwig quickly flew off again, obviously not keen to wait for a reply.

Hermione read the letter with mounting disbelief, oppressing the need to burn it in the fire once she'd finished. She was angrier still to feel tears brimming in her eyes. She sunk to the couch, feeling utterly lost. She stood after a moment's hesitation, before retrieving her glass of alcohol and bringing it with her, falling into the sofa once more, staring at nothing in particular.

This was how Draco found her, hours later when he arrived home from St. Mungo's. Upon seeing her red eyes, he sat next to her, wrapping his arms around her. She buried her head in his shoulder, he kissed her hair before pulling back, meeting her gaze.

"What happened?" he asked, concerned.

She nodded roughly towards the table and he saw the letter, skimming it briefly, his eyes narrowing as he read it.

_Hermione,_

_Ron and I have been discussing things these past days, and we've come to a conclusion. We never see you anymore. Not that we mean to taunt you in any way, but you've been without a job for a while now, and we can't help but wonder how you're getting on. We aren't too sure what's actually happening with you and Malfoy, but it seemed at dinner the other night that the two of you were hardly speaking. Hermione, you know we'll always be here for you when you need us, and if you'd like to move back in, the offer is still open. At least until you can get your life back on track. Before you become indignant, know that we have you in our best interests when we say this, but we do know you better than he does, and if it comes to it, we'd hope for you to remember that. _

_Sincerely,_

_Harry and Ron_

He pursed his lips, folding the letter into a tidy square several times until it was nearly vanished, before he tossed it into the fire.

"What a joke," he stated, glancing at her. She just stared miserably at the momentary flare in the flames.

"They've done some insensitive things before," she replied, sighing. "But this, I'm not sure I can take."

He nodded, taking her hand in his.

"You do know that I'd rather have you living here and spending my money in sprees than living there with a job, right?" He asked softly and she nodded, leaning into him, eyes shut tightly. When her eyes opened again he noticed how strained she looked, how heavy her eyelids seemed.

"I didn't take that job," she said, biting her lip nervously.

"Right, did you find out what it was for?" he asked curiously. She smiled grimly.

"Oh yes, I did." She proceeded to fill him in on every sludgy detail, his expression that of disbelief.

"Are they allowed to advertise jobs like that in the _Prophet_? If that can even be termed a job," he added thoughtfully.

"I suppose so, as long as no one actually knows what it's for. And when you're just a upper-class version of a pimp, you can do whatever the hell you want." Her eyes were dull.

"I'm sorry you had such a bad day," he said in a low voice, leaning in to her.

"I've had worse." She fell silent and he did as well, content with the feel of her in his arms.

"Draco?" she asked some time later, looking up at him.

"Mhm?" he asked, tightening his grip on her.

"Thanks." She spoke so quietly he would have had to strain to hear if he wasn't already so enraptured.

He wondered how this had all happened. How he had gotten her.

"Don't mention it."

What sort of sick trick of fate this was, to align the two of them so closely, in so direct a path.

For him to feel so strongly towards one thing in his life, to have a complete, overwhelming belief that this was correct, this was what he'd been waiting for. Somehow, through twenty-three years of confusion and indecision and pure indifference, he'd found that the answer was simple... Hermione Granger.

He exhaled deeply, looking over at her once more. She turned to see what he was looking at, her lips quirking into the tiniest smile.

Hermione could tell something was up. Draco's eyes were glazed over, so much that she couldn't really tell if he was even looking at her or past her. His lips were parted slightly, and feeling adventurous, she leaned in to taste them.

Placing her hands on the back of his neck, she pressed her lips to his softly, and though it was warm outside and the fire was going, she wasn't prepared for the course of heat and energy through her in such a complete way.

He kissed back and she had never felt more alive.

-

He murmured something unintelligible into her hair.

"What was that?" she asked, smiling. He swallowed heavily with some difficulty.

"It doesn't matter," he replied uneasily.

"Sure it does," she teased.

"Just forget about it." His eyes flashed. She laughed, allowing him to win for the time being.

Hermione snuck up behind him with her wand. She wrapped one arm around his waist from behind, placing the tip of her wand to his temple.

Standing on her toes, she leaned in to whisper in his ear.

"Draco," she drawled in a tone similar to his own. "Going to tell me what you said?"

"Like you'd do anything," he taunted, smirking.

"Don't test me," she said under her breath. "I believe you know what I'm capable of."

In one swift move he had reached up to grab her wand, pointing it away from himself and spun around to face her.

"Now what?" he asked menacingly and she laughed excitedly, pulling out of his grip to run away, leaving her wand behind with him.

"Tell me what you said," she said once she had stopped, safe on the other side of the room.

"Why should I? I've got the wand." He twirled it absently in his fingers. She walked back over, assessing him with her eyes.

"Sure, you have _my_ wand. The wand won't sleep with you though, will it?" Her eyes twinkled and he handed over the wand.

"Must you use that against me so often?" he asked, defeated.

"Yes. Now tell me what you said."

He stared at her, eyes alight for the first time in weeks, and he suddenly felt a great number of reservations and fears. But she wasn't going to give up, he knew. He realized he didn't want her to give up.

"I said I love you." He blurted it too quickly, too anxiously to have expected her to hear. Yet she had.

"Did you?" The smile faded from her face, replaced with a frown, her eyebrows furrowed. "Why?"

"Because it's the truth." His expression was unguarded, and his insecurity bled through his practiced indifference. His Hogwarts self would have been ashamed.

"Draco," she sighed, running a hand through her unruly hair. "You can't mean that."

He suddenly felt indignant.

"But I do, Hermione, and I've realized, I've never felt anything so strongly, been so sure of one thing before in my life."

He felt like he needed to tell her everything, and be entirely honest with her. Because if he couldn't be honest with her, what sort of chance would he ever have at life.

"Hermione, you knew me when I was sixteen. That was seven years and a _lifetime_ ago. And I've spent all of those seven years trying to figure out _something_, anything that could allow me just a bit of truth and clarity."

His grey eyes connected with her brown ones, closed off to him.

"Draco, I told you," she said, sounding exasperated. "Remember? Way back, when we got together. I told you _this_ wouldn't work. We were destined to fail."

His heart dropped into his intestines.

"What do you mean?" he asked. This had to be some sick nightmare.

"I told you, emotion just doesn't work with me." She frowned. "Draco, please, don't love me."

"It doesn't work like that," he replied darkly.

"If you actually care that much about me," she said, tone filled with desperation, "maybe I should go."

"God no, Hermione." This was all going so, so wrong. "You aren't seventeen anymore."

He stepped toward her, resting his forehead on hers, relieved when she didn't move away.

"Just because you allow yourself to give a shit about something doesn't mean you're going to lose it," he whispered, eyes closed.

"You don't know that," she hissed, pulling away from him. "Your friends that were killed in the war, you didn't love them, Draco. Your parents too, you didn't love them because they didn't love you."

He blinked, suddenly feeling the blow of her words.

"Draco, when Harry was nearly killed in the battle, I had so many doubts that I could even continue on. I kept thinking the worst, and I knew I couldn't handle if he didn't make it. I tried so hard to be my usual self, and to convince myself that I could cope," she was whispering, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She angrily wiped them away. "I care about you, Draco, which is why I'm doing this. You don't deserve this."

"I don't deserve _you_, Hermione. I need you in my life, I know that," he said, heart breaking with each word she spoke. "And I know this can work if you only allow your heart to be unlocked."

"I'm sorry," she shook her head. "You're wrong, this is how it just needs to be." The tears were flowing from her eyes freely now. "I'm going to go to Harry's now, please don't try to reach me."

And before he could comprehend the sickening crack of his heart, the one that was so strong and so painful that he wanted to vomit, she was gone. He was left, alone, to wonder just what had happened to her, and how he'd gotten himself in so deep along with her.

-

Draco let out a deep breath as his owl flew back into the flat, its letter untouched. This was the twelfth time he'd tried to contact her in the week since she'd left, and each time she hadn't even read his letters.

"Tough luck man," Blaise said, walking into the room with a sandwich. Blaise had taken it upon himself to spend the majority of his time in the flat, keeping Draco company.

"Let me borrow your owl, Blaise," Draco muttered, ignoring his friend's words. "Maybe if she doesn't know it's from me she'll open it."

"Took you that long to realize?" Blaise joked.

"Shut up and lend me your owl." Draco's eyes flashed dangerously. Blaise called his owl and it flew into the room, settling itself precariously on the arm of the chair Draco was sitting in. He removed the letter from his own owl, giving it to the other and sending it off.

Within twenty awkwardly tense minutes, the owl flew back into the flat, holding a reply firmly in its claws. It hooted joyfully as it handed Draco the letter.

"What'd she say?" Blaise asked with interest, finishing a tall glass of juice.

"It says 'Leave me alone,'" Draco murmured, falling back into his chair in defeat.

"So send a letter to Potter, get him to talk to her," Blaise suggested. Draco snorted.

"Potter and Weasley wanted her to leave me," he replied spitefully. "They definitely won't be helping."

"Well it's none of Potter's fucking business what she does, is it?" Blaise said. "Try it. Who knows?"

"I suppose it couldn't hurt," the blond admitted, drawing a fresh piece of parchment and quill towards him. He quickly scribbled a letter to Harry in the kindest words he could manage, and sent it off with his owl. "This is completely not how I expected things to go with her."

"Never try to figure out women, my friend," Blaise said sagely. "They'll screw you and then your head and your heart when you aren't expecting it." Draco laughed dryly.

"Look at it this way," Blaise continued. "She can't stay holed up in Potter's apartment forever, she'll go nuts. Eventually she'll have to go somewhere, and she'll have to hope not to run into you."

"So what, I find some way to track her?" Draco looked bewildered.

"It's possible, I read about it once," Blaise said and Draco shook his head.

"That won't get me back on her good side, trying to plant some homing spell on her."

"Your loss man."

The owl flew back in and Draco nearly scrambled up for the letter.

_Malfoy,_

_You can't reasonably expect us to help you get Hermione back. She won't even tell us what you did, so we're led to believe the worst. Which basically entails anything and everything you could have possibly done to make her hate you, all of which leaves us on her side. Move on will you? Honestly._

_Harry Potter_

"Fucking idiot," Draco muttered under his breath. Blaise swiped the letter from him, reading it in disgust then lighting it on fire.

"My life is officially over."

"Don't be stupid. So your life _with her_ is over."

"Exactly. With her, without her. She _was_ my life, Blaise." Draco tossed all of the letters into the flames, stalking off to his room.

-

"Hermione, you really need to get out. Keeping yourself inside won't do you any good. Maybe you'll even meet someone new," Ron suggested, taking a seat next to her.

Hermione sniffled at him from underneath her stack of blankets.

"I don't bloody _want_ to meet someone new, Ron," she replied, feeling the tears come on once more. "I want to go back in time and still be with Draco."

"So what made it so much better before this happened, that couldn't be fixed now?" Harry asked, attempting to mediate between the angry brunette and the tactless redhead.

"That isn't your business," she replied, burying her head once more.

"It's our business if we're trying to help you," he threw back at her.

"Jesus Harry, not everything can be fixed with _words_, alright?"

"A lot of things can, Hermione." He took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes. "Merlin, if you've had your heart broken by some bloke the best thing to do is talk about it."

"He did _not_ break my heart," she muttered, eyes narrowed. "I was _not_ in love with him, and you obviously just proved you know nothing about it, so will you just bloody leave me alone?"

Sharing a hopeless glance, Harry and Ron stood, about to leave the room.

"For someone who wasn't in love, you're acting awfully heart-broken Herms," Ron said quietly, closing the door behind him.

When they were gone Hermione felt her eyes immediately begin to water at his words. She of all people should know if she was in love with Draco, and how dare they make assumptions about her life like that. Feeling emotions so strong, so painful like love were definitely not on her agenda, and so she didn't feel them.

Draco had merely crossed a line somewhere by falling in love with her, when she had _warned_ him not to. How could she be responsible for that? She couldn't. And how could anyone blame her for being the unfortunate bystander in a game she hadn't wanted to play?

She really just needed some space and time alone.


	8. Chapter 8

Hello there. A new chapter of Catalyst, nearly two years in the works! I was reading through some old reviews which said I simply could not leave the story at the depressing point which it was at, and I agreed. So I finished up this chapter that has been sitting there for ages, and here we have it.

Three new postings in just weeks, that has got to be a new record for me. (New chapter of Fidelity's Fleece, and a brand new fic-- The Eyes Have It. Shameless advertising. If you like this check them out.) I have a few ideas for chapter 9 of this, but it'll be all from scratch so I will most likely need reviews to encourage me to get on that in the next decade or so. :)

Please, enjoy. It's all I ask. (and maybe a review or two at the end.)

* * *

Some days later Hermione looked up from the book she was reading, drawn from its pages by loud voices arguing outside of her room. Two male and one female. Presumably Ginny, Harry and Ron.

Suddenly the door swung open and Ginny stormed in, throwing herself on the bed next to Hermione.

"I'd rather be alone right now," she murmured, flipping the page in her book.

"I really don't give a fuck what you want right now, Hermione," Ginny replied brazenly, stealing the book from Hermione's grip. "You need to get out of this flat. Or at least speak to someone. You've been in silence for almost two weeks now, and quite frankly it isn't fair to anyone, much less yourself."

Hermione glared at the younger woman, making it known that she was not a willing participant in the discussion. Ginny shot a pointed look toward the doorway and Ron and Harry quickly left, closing the door behind them.

"Now. Why don't you spill? We still don't know what happened," Ginny said, her voice softening.

"I'm not all that sure myself, Gin," Hermione replied, biting her lip. "The more I think about it, the more I begin to wonder if maybe Draco didn't do anything wrong."

"What _did_ Draco do?" Ginny looked genuinely curious. Hermione pondered how she could put it so that Ginny wouldn't quite understand her predicament. "Just say it." The redhead had seen right through her pause.

"He fell in love with me, Gin," Hermione said quietly, biting her lower lip.

Ginny froze, looking stunned.

"Is that _it_?" she asked, her eyes wide. Hermione nodded, fully aware that Ginny thought she was a raving lunatic. "Let me get this straight. Yourboyfriend, _Draco Malfoy_, the Slytherin king of _ice_, fell in love with you, and so you broke up with him."

"Yes that's correct." Hermione's voice felt oddly far away from her.

"Pardon me for not understanding your logic," Ginny said slowly, giving her an evaluative gaze. "How exactly is that a bad thing?"

"Because, Gin, if I know that he cares so strongly for me, I'll feel awful that I don't feel the same for him." She was having difficulty putting her thoughts into words.

"Are you sure you don't already feel the same?" the redhead asked in a low voice. Hermione snorted.

"I'm sure. I care about him, I suppose," she drifted off, not meeting the other girl's eyes. "Ginny, I told myself when I initially got involved with him that I would never allow myself to care so much for him that when I no longer have him it would truly hurt."

"Hold on, you said 'when', Hermione. You can't have known from the start that nothing would happen. Especially these days, what with everyone rebuilding what they can of their lives from the war." Ginny finally met her eyes earnestly. "Why won't you allow yourself this happiness?"

"Gin, you don't understand," Hermione murmured, running a hand through her hair. The anxious fear was rising within her once more. How was Ginny to understand her fear of commitment? "If I care about Draco I'll lose him. I can't imagine being able to handle that."

"What makes you think you'll lose him?"

"Because every other bloody time I've allowed myself to love or care about someone I've lost them. My parents, professors, friends, Seamus... I nearly lost Harry and Ron in the war." Her voice was rising through her nervousness. Ginny grabbed her hands, looking her straight in the eye.

"Hermione, but you didn't." She paused, allowing her statement to sink in, for Hermione's breathing to slow. "Harry, Ron and I... Draco... we're still here."

"But–"

"We're still here."

-

It was another two days, spent in deep contemplation, before Hermione allowed Ginny to take her shopping in Diagon Alley.

Ginny had dressed the brunette up, doing her hair and makeup nicely. As an added touch of esteem.

And Hermione couldn't deny it was nice to get out. Just for a while. She was able to admit she was having a fun time of things. They had gone for lunch and spent hours strolling and shopping, enjoying the hot summer air.

Almost like when they were back in Hogwarts, and it was a Hogsmeade weekend.

Hermione allowed herself to imagine her only cares were of transfiguration essays and potions exams. She pretended she had money and a job and a boyfriend, and even allowed herself to indulge in new clothes.

"Hermione," Ginny hissed, suddenly stopping in the middle of the street. "Look over there." Hermione followed the younger girl's wide gaze, at first seeing only an empty building with a "for lease" sign, but her jaw dropped as she saw who Ginny was staring at.

It was Celestina Warbeck. While Ginny appeared starstruck at the sight of the singer, Hermione wanted to curl into herself and vanish. The older woman brought back a painful flood of memories. Right as Hermione was about to duck out of the path, the blonde turned in their direction and her eyes flickered with recognition.

"She's walking this way," Ginny said excitedly. Again, Hermione remained silent.

"I know you," the blonde commented as she stood before Hermione. Her nose wrinkled slightly. "Where from?"

"Blaise Zabini's New Years," she replied shortly and Celestina's mouth opened in shock.

"Right," she replied, "you." Hermione was unsure what "you" was meant to express. "You're the one who snogged Draco Malfoy to spite me." She saw Ginny's eyes blink wide through her peripheral vision. She knew the youngest Weasley was too nervous to speak in front of a preoccupied celebrity.

"Actually, no. Draco and I dated for a while," Hermione fabricated, although it was mostly true. "The fact that you were there was merely coincidental." Ginny made a coughing sound at her rudeness.

"You aren't still with him, are you?" the blonde woman asked, her green eyes narrowed. Hermione paused for a moment.

"No." Celestina grinned.

"Good. That one was way more trouble than he was worth. Even _with_ the name of Malfoy." The blonde looked completely dissatisfied. Hermione felt a pang of indignation on behalf of Draco.

"I couldn't have cared what sort of last name or influence he had on the wizarding community. And as a matter of fact, he was the one who broke up with me." She retorted. Surely Celestina wasn't to know that she was lying through her teeth.

"Suit yourself," Celestina murmured, looking clearly bored with the topic. "Draco's Italian friend on the other hand..."

"Who, Blaise?" Hermione laughed out loud. "Blaise is definitely not your type."

"Sweetheart, every guy is my type." Seeing the look of disbelief on Hermione's face, she continued. "So what then, he's _your_ type, is he?"

"Mytype is good in bed," Hermione couldn't resist. "Of course he was my type."

"Yet you dated Malfoy?" Celestina raised an eyebrow. "I certainly never found anything all that special." There was a dismissive tone to her voice that led Hermione to believe it was a blatant lie.

"Oh, I'd say Draco had some definite skill," she pondered, allowing herself to linger on a few particular memories. "Perhaps he just didn't find you all that worthy."

Ginny made a choking noise next to her, and while Hermione had her head turned Celestina had drawn her wand and was aiming directly at Hermione's face. Apparently she'd gone too far.

"You do _not_ insult me like that," the blonde fumed, glaring intensely at Hermione, who was unarmed.

"Fine, hex me," Hermione dared.

And so she did.

-

It was such that Ginny found herself dragging a deluded Hermione into St. Mungo's ten minutes later. She had no idea what sort of spell Celestina Warbeck had cast on her best friend, but it wasn't one she'd heard before. And she wasn't entirely sure if it was a real spell. She'd been entirely unable to undo the curse.

Hermione was babbling utter nonsense to herself, fighting with great difficulty to remain standing.

While Ginny was waiting in the insufferably long line of patients to explain her case to a nurse, a certain blond ex-Slytherin was walking past and happened to catch sight of the distinctive Weasley hair. Curiosity got the better of him and he doubled back to see what Ginny was doing in Mungo's. He was unprepared for the sight of Hermione, however, and nearly choked as he saw her.

He felt the recurring crack of his heart once more at the sight of her, as he had been feeling for weeks. Not quite sure that he could handle seeing her, he kept walking towards his office, preparing for his lunch break.

But what were the pair of them doing there? As far as he had seen Hermione was just as beautiful as usual, and Ginny had sprouted no noticeable body parts. What if something serious had happened to Hermione? And they had to wait in that line for hours just to make an appointment. He wouldn't forgive himself.

Minutes later, Ginny almost screamed out loud as she felt herself being pulled from the line by a strong hand, until she spun around to see a pair of worried grey eyes.

"What happened?" he questioned, keeping his eyes off of Hermione for the time being. Ginny shrugged, her eyebrows raised.

"She was hexed," Ginny stated, continuing at a raised pale eyebrow. "By Celestina Warbeck. They were talking and suddenly she pulled a wand on Hermione."

What little colour was in Draco's face drained from it.

"Celestina is incompetent with magic," he commented distantly, checking Hermione's pulse. "Follow me."

He walked quickly through the hallways before coming to an empty room that looked suspiciously like a laboratory. Ginny and Hermione walked behind him, Hermione seemingly oblivious to the fact that Draco was there.

Draco pulled his own wand from his pocket, and ignoring the whine of protest from Ginny, began searching for the spell that had been used on Hermione.

"No registered spells have been used on her, it's likely been an attempt gone awry," he murmured, trying to stop the clenching panic at his heart. It was very likely that there was no real harm, but he wanted to be sure. Perhaps she was merely exhibiting side effects of something more serious.

"They were arguing over you," Ginny stated after a moment. Draco looked up, meeting her eyes.

"Really?" he asked, mentally cursing himself for putting her in such a situation.

"Yes. I wasn't aware you'd dated her," Ginny continued.

"Ah. Well, I did."

"I also wasn't aware that you and Hermione _snogged_ at Zabini's new years, and she told me nothing had happened." Draco's head snapped back up and he met her eyes, glinting with mischief before he allowed himself to feel relief.

"Technically she wasn't cheating on Wood. It was a really complicated situation," he defended.

"Fair enough," Ginny replied, once more watching her friend.

Draco's wand suddenly glowed bright yellow and he ended the tests, frowning slightly at Hermione.

"It was a poorly cast memory charm is all," he said, looking closer at Hermione. Fighting the urge to touch her. "I've just never seen side effects like this. She may have difficulty remembering small things for the next few days."

He cast an incantation and Hermione blinked into focus. Her eyes narrowed as she saw Draco standing in front of her.

"Lower your wand, if you please," she murmured to Draco, turning to Ginny. "Gin, what's going on?"

"You've been cursed," Draco informed her, doing as she asked and putting his wand into his pocket.

"I didn't ask you, sir," Hermione replied formally. Draco was taken aback at her harsh tone. He had no clue she would be so angry with him. And so impersonal. Suddenly Hermione paled significantly, her eyes rolling. "I... think I should take a seat."

Draco caught on and took hold of her arm, walking her over to a bed in the other end of the room. Her eyes slid shut and she fell asleep within moments.

"What's happening to her?" Ginny asked nervously, biting her lip.

"I can't be sure," Draco said, furrowing his brow. He walked over to a bookcase, selecting a particular volume and searching the index for something. Ginny pulled a chair next to the bed, watching Hermione closely.

"Can't you perform some spell on her?" she continued.

"I could," Draco answered, pausing. "But without knowing exactly what Celestina did to her there's no way of knowing it won't backfire and cause more damage. I can't imagine she's in any immediate danger, she'll probably wake up soon."

Ginny nodded, apparently satisfied and leaned back in her seat, watching her friend. Draco slipped quietly from the room.

When he returned some time later, he was holding a glass vial.

"Here, give this to her," he murmured, handing it to Ginny. The redhead poured the potion down Hermione's throat and her eyes opened once more, blinking wildly.

"What's happened?" she asked, looking around the room rapidly. She rubbed her forehead, wincing as if she had a headache. She turned to Draco. "Am I in Mungo's? Who are you?"

Any colour that had been in Draco's face was instantly drained.

"What do you mean?" he murmured, leaning in to look into her eyes.

"Please back away," she stated unsurely. "Are you a doctor?"

Ginny and Draco shared a concerned look, at a loss for words.

"You don't... recognize me?" the blond asked. His stomach lurched violently at the thought and he stepped away, feeling lost. He tried to ignore the familiar sensation of his heart breaking.

Hermione stood up, swaying slightly. "I've never seen you before," she murmured uncertainly. "Gin, can we leave? I feel fine."

Ginny stared at Draco, who looked hopeless as he stared into the ground, his brow furrowed.

"Okay Herms, I'll meet you in the hall in just a moment," Ginny replied and Hermione hurried away, throwing Draco a sidelong glance on her way out.

After the door had closed behind Hermione, Draco became re-animated, running a hand anxiously through his hair. Ginny bit her lip, not wanting to say anything to upset him.

"Did that just happen?" he suddenly murmured, his expression deep in thought.

"Afraid so," Ginny replied. "She can't remember you?"

"So instead of erasing her memory, she just cleared all memories of me," he spoke as if to himself. The academic side of him was quite fascinated – he'd never seen anything quite like this before. However, that thought only made him more worried, as he had no idea how to reverse the spell. He shook his head.

He skimmed the multitude of titles on his bookshelf, pulling out several thick volumes and carrying them over to his desk.

"This may take a while," he muttered, glancing over at Ginny. "And I'll probably have to ask some colleagues about this..."

"Shall I take Hermione back to Harry and Ron's?" she asked, concerned for her confused friend still in the hallway.

As much as Draco wanted to object, to tell Ginny to take Hermione back to his flat, he knew that would do her very little good right now. He nodded.

"I'll owl as soon as I learn anything, and you'll probably need to bring her in. But I won't force her to stay here for now." He couldn't force the look on her face just moments ago when she hadn't recognized him from his mind.

"Okay, good luck," Ginny replied, hand on the door. "Oh, Draco?"

He looked up, his expression weary, his heart throbbing in pain.

"I don't think Hermione quite knew what she was doing when she left," she admitted. "I think she'll just need some time. That is, when she..." she trailed off.

"When she can remember my existence again," he finished bitterly. "I'll kill Celestina for this one."

Ginny nodded shortly, before taking her leave. Hermione was waiting impatiently in the hallway.

"Can we go now? I feel fine," she declared and Ginny nodded sadly, as the two of them returned to Harry's flat, no longer very interested in shopping. Ginny hoped deeply, for his sake and hers, that Draco would be able to figure something out soon.

Seeing Hermione so indifferent was almost worse than heartbroken.


	9. Chapter 9

Hello... This story, finally, is finished. It was published over three years ago, but finally complete.

I hope for anyone reading to enjoy. This is a long time in the works. :)

-

Draco couldn't remember the last time he'd been adequately nourished and rested. For two weeks he'd been wracking his brain, and those of his colleagues, in a furious search for some way to return Hermione's memories of him back to her.

The more he tried, the harder things became, and the worse it felt every time he failed. Finding and using a counter-jinx was elementary magic, and he was beyond qualified at that particular sort of magic, even without being a typical licensed Healer.

But this... without knowing how Celestina's spell had operated, it could take years to determine anything that might be able to undo it.

Once, after a particularly tiresome and unsuccessful day, Draco had been struck with a thought that what he was doing was selfish. Hermione didn't want him in her life anymore, so what would she want with a collection of memories of him? Maybe it was just a part of him that couldn't tolerate her not being able to remember anything.

It was a depressing thought.

Two days later, however, Ginny had owled to say that Hermione was not doing well. She had been feeling particularly morose, and was unable to determine a source. Ginny, with a begrudged Potter and Weasley, had come to the conclusion that she was missing him and simply didn't know that, as she had no knowledge of him.

After hearing this, he had dove even deeper into the project. With what little spare time he had, that was. Everything else at work was keeping him plenty busy without worrying about Hermione's mental well-being. His team of researchers had made a breakthrough in a theory they'd been working on for five years. He had attended the celebration alone, drank far too much, and gone home alone.

Draco was frustrated. It made him sick to think that the one person who was more than just a patient was the one he couldn't help. He felt as if he'd exhausted all of his options.

Almost all of his options.

He frowned, deeply, posing his quill over a sheet of parchment. He scribbled a rough note before sending it off with his owl, hoping it wasn't the stupidest thing he'd ever done.

-

"Gin, I know I said you could borrow some things, but this is getting ridiculous," Hermione fumed, entering the living room where the redhead was sitting, watching TV.

"What are you talking about, Hermione? I never borrowed anything," she denied, frowning.

"I can't find my blue heels, or my black coat, or a lot of other things!" Hermione shouted, irritation tainting her tone, as she was finding it impossible to prepare for her interview when all of her belongings kept vanishing.

Ginny bit her lip, unsure what to say. Hermione had left a lot of her belongings at Draco's place, and hadn't gone to get them before she had lost recollection of him. Therefore, she was bound to be missing things without an explanation.

The redhead had tried to explain what happened to Hermione shortly after they had returned from St. Mungo's. Hermione, unsurprisingly, had taken offense. She had insisted that she never remembered meeting "that man at the hospital" and felt as if Ginny was patronizing her for being single. It was easier just to not mention the blond she'd been involved with, and who was very much in love with her.

Ginny, therefore, had decided to put her hope in Draco and his research. Which was so far not working out so well. Meanwhile Hermione was unhappier by the day, still unable to determine why she was so upset.

"I don't know where your things have gone, Herms, maybe you misplaced them. You can borrow from me if you need to," Ginny suggested.

"I may have to," the brunette murmured, playing with her hair. "Do I look presentable enough?"

"I'd hire you," Ginny affirmed, smiling. "Which interview is this one again?" She was losing track; after Hermione had abruptly stopped mourning Draco, she had been suddenly anxious to get working again.

"This is one I haven't mentioned," Hermione bit her lip. "It suddenly struck me as something I think I'd like to do. I'd rather not say what it is yet, if that's alright."

"Of course," Ginny replied, though she was confused. "But if you get the job, you won't be able to keep it from us much longer."

Hermione grinned, slightly more relaxed, before she checked her watch and hurried off again, scolding herself for dawdling.

Ginny smiled, though it faded shortly after. If only the brunette knew how much she couldn't remember. Draco needed to hurry his arse up and figure this out.

-

Draco steeled his nerves and knocked on the door before him. The sound echoed within his soul and he grimaced, fighting every fibre of his being not to turn and run before it opened.

Instead he stood his ground, suddenly feeling as if he'd needed to do this for a long time.

The door swung open and Draco found himself face to face with a set of narrowed green eyes, a voluminous head of blonde hair, and, lately, the subject of his nightmares.

"Draco," she purred, lips curved into a well-practiced smile.

"Celestina," he greeted formally. He ground his teeth, "it's good to see you."

"Likewise, of course!" she admonished, welcoming him into her house. Draco looked around the familiar entrance hall, a bitter taste rising in his mouth. The house was almost as exaggeratedly decorated and fake as was Celestina's personality.

"And what brings you here? Your letter sounded quite... urgent." Her lips twitched.

"Surely you know, Cel," Draco muttered, darkly.

"Indeed," she murmured, walking into the sitting room. "I knew this day would come eventually." She sat down, gesturing Draco be seated next to her. He merely walked into the room, however, standing.

"So you'll tell me what you've done," he stated, slightly surprised.

"What _I've_ done? Draco, it was you that ended things between us. I'll be entirely honest, I don't know what to say." Draco paused, confused, before understanding dawned. She thought he was here to tie up the frazzled ends of their past relationship.

"That is not why I'm here," he replied, stiffly. "This is about Hermione."

"Who?" Celestina asked with a mere flicker of interest.

"My... well. New Years," he bit out, unable to quantify what Hermione presently was to him.

"Oh, her," the blonde scoffed. "I cannot believe you came here to talk to me about another woman." Her eyes flashed, and she took a step toward Draco. "And to think, I've been missing you quite a lot lately." She dropped her voice, meeting his gaze.

Draco blinked, evaluating his ex-girlfriend.

"You have?" he asked, against his better judgement.

"I miss what we had, Draco," she murmured, lifting a hand to place on his neck. Almost subconsciously, his eyes slipped shut. He was suddenly reminded that he had loved this woman. She leaned in, and her breath on his face triggered Draco awake.

"Cel," he choked, jerking away. "What is this?"

"I thought you wanted to pick up where we left off, Draco," she replied, eyes wide and startled. "I thought that was why you had owled me. I admit, I was quite excited to have you over."

"What about Flint?" Draco asked, his eyes narrowed now.

"Marcus was months ago. He wasn't to my particular taste." Celestina wrinkled her nose and Draco was suddenly reminded of why he had ended things with her. The infidelity, the drinking, the superiority complex.

"Neither was I, if I recall correctly," he said delicately, frowning. He moved away from her proximity, suddenly feeling sick for allowing her touch to get to him. "And now, Cel, I'm in love."

He allowed the words to settle. She jumped, before coming to the slow realization that he did not speak of her.

"With your brunette?" she spat, loathsomely. "You must be joking, Draco. She is nothing compared to you. Compared to me!"

"That is precisely the reason," Draco commented. "She is nothing like you."

Conviction welled in him. He had to do this. For Hermione, for himself... for their future. Because he would not allow this to become his life again. Lies, and cheating, and scandal. That was done with.

"What are you doing here, Draco?" Celestina asked, suddenly cold and sharp. He wondered if he could make her snap.

"Undo what you've done to Hermione. I don't know the curse you used on her, therefore I cannot determine how to undo the damage." He fought to keep his voice steady, admitting to this woman that he had failed, giving power over to her. But it was his last viable option.

Celestina laughed, coldly. She inspected her fingernails, looking disinterested again.

"Really, Draco, if something happened to her, I'm not exactly bothered." She shrugged. "She meant to attack me, it was self defense."

"I don't care who started it, we aren't four anymore, Cel," Draco muttered, glaring at her. "At least tell me the incantation you used on her."

"Why would I do that?" she asked, clearly bothered. "I've just admitted I'd like to start over with you, and here you are pining over some _girl_ whose hair resembles a birds' nest!"

"That's an exaggeration, I'd say. I happen to like her hair." Draco frowned, meeting her haughty gaze, his own vulnerable and honest. "Cel, please. She means so much to me, and it's killing me that I can't help her."

"Fine. Since you obviously won't accept no for an answer. But I'm doing it for _you_ not _her_." She looked at him darkly, and he nodded, anxiously. Finally, she continued. "It was a spell Marcus created and taught me. Meant to eliminate memories of a certain person from the target. In this case, you." She laughed, rather coldly, as she thought of this. Draco feared she would take back her consent to tell him how to undo the spell.

"Cel," he murmured and she shot him a glare.

"Oh, fine, the countercurse is _Oblaxius_." Defeated, she looked away from him, head held high nonetheless.

"Good, thanks Cel," Draco said after a moment of silence. He walked himself to the door.

"Draco," she called, walking to the door. Her eyes were narrowed. "She had better not fuck this up. Or I _will_ take her out for you."

Draco wasn't sure what to say. He felt oddly touched, considering only moments ago Celestina had been trying to convince him to get back together with her. He nodded, at a loss for words, before ducking out of the door.

-

Draco knocked anxiously on the door to Harry and Ron's flat, hoping with all his might that Ginny and Hermione were there. If not, he wasn't sure where else to look.

Ginny opened the door. She stared at him, confused for a moment, before her eyes widened in recognition.

"Did you find something?" she questioned, her voice low, straining to keep the excitement from it. Perhaps there was something in his expression.

"I think so," he murmured, nodding. "Is she here?"

"She's out," Ginny replied, biting her lip. "She's at an interview."

"Oh," Draco suddenly paused, curious, his eagerness momentarily on hold. "Where?"

"She wouldn't say," Ginny shrugged.

"Who is it, Gin?" Harry asked from beyond sight, before he appeared at the door, frowning when he saw Draco there.

"Get over it," the blond murmured to Harry, "I came to see if Hermione was in."

"She's not."

"I see that, Potter."

"Honestly, you two," Ginny scoffed. "Move on with your lives. You're both still going to be here in the future, so you might as well just get used to one another." The two men exchanged unpleasant looks but neither continued the argument.

"Now, Draco," the redhead continued, fired up, "Hermione should be back soon, would you like to wait here?"

"I should get to the hospital," he murmured. "I'm due to start soon, nighttime research session."

Ginny nodded, turning to Harry.

"We'll bring Hermione to your office when she gets back," she informed the two men at once, giving Harry a quite convincing look.

"Great, thanks," Draco gave her a nervous grin before apparating to work.

Some time later he looked up from his desk at a knock. Suddenly terrified that something would go wrong and his hopes would crash to the floor, he hesitated. Gathering his nerves, Draco opened the door to see Ginny holding Hermione's arm, Harry leaning awkwardly against the other side of the hallway.

Hermione gave Draco a strange look, maintaining her distance.

"Gin, what are we doing–"

"You'll see, Hermione," Ginny cut her off, shoving her into Draco's office. She followed closely after, and Harry, reluctantly, after her.

"Look, Malfoy," he blurted, eyeing the ground. "I do hope this works. For the both of you. I've been immature, but I know Hermione really was happy with you for a while there." He looked up, meeting Draco's gaze. The blond grinned.

"Though that sounded rather forced, I'll take it, Potter," he laughed, before sobering. "Thanks." Harry gave a stilted nod, taking a seat. Hermione was still eyeing Draco warily, even more so when he drew his wand. Ginny held her in place to stop her from running.

Draco inhaled deeply, exhaled, and cast the countercurse.

Nothing happened. Hermione still gazed at him with her mistrusting eyes, struggled loose from Ginny's grip, and made for the door.

Draco's heart sunk to his stomach, and he felt as though he may be sick. Ginny frowned, looking close to tears, and even Harry looked put off.

Then Hermione froze, her hand on the door handle, and she spun around so fast Draco blinked, shocked.

Her mouth fell open, her brow furrowed, and she suddenly looked at him as if she had no idea what he was doing there. She clutched at her heart, and with a slight whimper, she walked back to him. She appeared to be deep in thought, her brain processing the flood of memories that had suddenly taken over her.

"Draco," she whispered, her eyes tearing up. Draco let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, meeting her gaze. He lifted a hand to wipe the tears that threatened to escape.

That was all it took; with a sharp breath in, Hermione tossed herself at him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. Draco pulled her to him, closer, burying his face into her hair. The weeks of stress and anxiety suddenly melted away in this one embrace. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Ginny and Harry quietly exit the room, but he couldn't release the brunette in his arms quite yet.

When she finally pulled back with a sniffle, Draco realized his clothes were wet. Hermione looked embarrassed, and reached for her wand to clean him up.

"Leave it," he murmured, grabbing her hand in his instead. Nothing had ever felt like it fit better.

"I've been so cold to you," she suddenly whispered, hand over her mouth. "So awful." She looked terrified at her own actions as she realized what had all happened.

"Forget that," he muttered. "All that matters is that you're back."

"Going from indifferent to this, all at once," she murmured, still reeling from the return of her memories.

"Give it a moment," Draco suggested, smirking. She smiled back, curiously.

"Draco," she breathed, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, Hermione frowned. "I feel like I came so close to losing you. I don't want that to happen again."

Draco's breathing started to quicken. He expected her to remember at any moment that she had broken up with him.

But then she was kissing him, clutching his face, her lips soft and amazing and he stopped thinking and kissed her back, remembering, tasting, not quite believing the moment. His heart was pounding out of his chest when she finally pulled away, giving him a sheepish smile. He stroked her face, wanting to believe that this was real but knowing better.

"I want to try..." Hermione murmured, trailing off. She took a deep breath. "I want to try to love you."

And Draco's heart stopped, and then it skipped a beat, and then it was threatening to overpower his soul. And if he had been kissing her a moment ago, it was nothing in comparison to what he did as he grabbed her again, held her as if he'd never let go, and kissed her like it was his dying breath.

-

"Hermione, you've got a letter," Draco called, removing the parchment from the unfamiliar owl that had just flown in. Inspecting the seal, he paused, confused. "Why have you got mail from–"

"Thanks, Draco," Hermione murmured, breathless, tearing the letter from him. Excitedly, she ran back to her room to read it. Draco shrugged and flipped open the Prophet, skimming it with mild interest, when Hermione re-appeared into the kitchen, standing anxiously next to him.

"I've been offered a job," she murmured, nervously meeting his gaze.

"From who?" He asked, then remembered the familiar crest on the letter she had received. "Oh, I see."

"Yes, from Professor McGonagall." Hermione swallowed. "I had an interview while I was... well. You remember."

"All too well," he murmured, trying to force a smile. "That's great. What position?"

"Arithmancy." She paused, assessing his expression.

"So you'll start in the fall I presume?" Hermione frowned; he was being careful not to let on to anything.

"I just owled back that I am no longer certain I will be able to accept the position." She bit her lip. "I don't want to be away from you."

"Hermione, this is a great opportunity," Draco encouraged, suddenly acting more positive. "Don't turn it down on my behalf.

"Draco..." she cracked, letting her emotions get the better of her. "I do want this, more than anything I can remember. When I think of this, it's the job I have been holding out for. But I don't think I can manage being away from you that much. I don't know what to do."

"Hermione, it's up to you. I want to see you happy." He took her hand. "I love you, and whether or not you accept this job cannot change that. Even if I only see you during the summer, and maybe an occasional weekend."

"Well," she began then faltered. "In my return owl I suggested that I may be more willing to teach if the weekends were free more often than not. That way I can still see you regularly."

Draco stood to meet her, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist.

"That would be more than I could ask for," he murmured, kissing her neck.

"And," she continued, breath hitching in her throat as he worked at the sensitive skin. "I may have mentioned a fireplace in my room connected to the Floo network..."

"Even better," Draco growled, finally kissing her on the lips. She kissed back with fervour, but then he pulled back, groaning. "You realize that if you take this job and become Professor Granger, you are essentially bringing a vast majority of my fantasies to life."

Hermione laughed, kissing him again. "Professor Granger; it does have a ring to it, doesn't it?"

"Yes it does," he agreed, thoughtful. "Not quite as much as if you were to be named Professor Malfoy." He laughed at her frozen expression, a murmured 'just kidding'.

"_Were_ you kidding?" she asked, suddenly eyeing him with a look of confusion.

"I'm not sure," he admitted, swallowing heavily. "I've thought about it. Have you?"

"Yes," she replied in a small voice. "But Draco, it would be so sudden and irrational, and we haven't been together all that long, and I only just realized that I do love you, and--"

"Shh," Draco cut her off, an amused grin on his face. "Hermione, what about the two of us has ever been rational?"

She stared at him, eyes wide, aware that he was more excited than she was. And she was able to admit that she was excited, though she was wary at the same time.

"Absolutely nothing," she whispered.

He noticed the barely concealed terror in her expression and frowned.

"I didn't intend to scare you off," he muttered, stroking her cheek. "I know how you don't like to talk about commitment."

"Draco, realizing I nearly lost you because I was being so stubborn sort of changed my perspective on these things," she replied, a wry smile gracing her lips. "And if I'm honest, Professor Malfoy _does_ sound better."

"Are you saying you want to get married?" he asked quietly, not ready to believe it.

"You'll have to ask," Hermione said, her voice nearly below a whisper, eyes tearing up.

Draco looked into her eyes, searching for some hesitation. He found none. He reached into a pocket, drawing out a small box. Hermione raised her eyebrows in shock but he just shrugged, grinning. He dropped to one knee and Hermione inhaled sharply.

"Hermione, will you make me _the_ happiest man alive and marry me?" he asked, and Hermione wasn't certain her heart wasn't about to explode.

"Yes," she murmured, smiling. He smiled back so brilliantly, Hermione thought he was more beautiful than she had ever seen him. She pulled him to her, kissing him deeply, intensely. He pulled back after a moment, eyes sparkling.

"Professor, I have been up to no good," he stated solemnly, meeting her eyes. "You'll have to make me write lines. Or... something." He grinned wickedly, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Come, you naughty troublemaker," she muttered, dragging him toward the bedroom by his shirt collar. "I'm sure I can think of something."

"No physical abuse," Draco warned.

"I'm sorry, I cannot guarantee that." She pushed him down onto the bed, climbing over top of him. "In fact, I should probably guarantee that there _will_ be physical abuse." She made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, tossing it to the floor.

"Even better," he muttered. "So long as you don't treat all of your students this way."

"Shut up, Malfoy, or I'll have to tie you up and gag you." She crushed her lips into his, setting to work on his jeans.

"Why would that give me any incentive to shut up?" He grinned, and Hermione sighed, pulling away. She gave him a stern glare. "Fine, shutting up."

"Thank you," she replied, setting back to work.

Draco was reeling. He'd had no idea proposing would go that smoothly. That she would pull him into the bedroom immediately after.

Now, he decided, things were perfect.


End file.
